Beyond the Reflection's Edge

  Nathan shuddered. The reality of the funeral sent a painful jolt through every nerve, shaking his arms and weakening his knees. His mother was inside that box, her dead body, torn at the throat by an evil, sadistic murderer.

  He clutched the brass handle with his left hand and laid his trembling fingertips on the coffin’s smooth lid. As if emanating from the polished surface, a tingle passed through his knuckles, the same knuckles his mother would breathe on before every performance. He stared at the point of contact. His mother’s words flowed into his mind as if blown there by the refreshing breeze, the lovely phrases he had heard so many times.

  When I breathe on your hand, I whisper a prayer that the breath of God will fill your soul with his music, the melody of everlasting love that guided our Savior to the ultimate sacrifice. Because such love lasts forever, I know, my son, that we will be together through all eternity.

  His heart raced. Tears fell across his cheeks. Then, a warm grip rested on his shoulder. “Nathan, are you all right?”

  He turned to see a bald man with a large nose. “Dr. Malenkov?”

  “Yes, of course. I thought you saw me earlier.”

  “I was looking for someone else. Are you playing something for the funeral?”

  Nikolai patted him on the back. “Yes, yes. It is a great honor, yet a tragic occasion.”

  “What piece did you choose?”

  “The Vivaldi duet, an arrangement I created that allows me to play it as a solo. Your mother’s part fades away at the end while yours finishes strong.”

  Nathan swallowed down a tight catch in his throat. “That … sounds great.”

  “You are welcome to join me. I can play your mother’s part in the old arrangement.”

  “No. No thanks. I don’t think I could handle it.”

  Nikolai moved his hand back to Nathan’s shoulder. “I saw your tears, so I told the director to wait a moment. Do you need a replacement?”

  He shook his head. “I can make it. Thanks anyway.”

  “I am not a pallbearer for your father, so I will be glad to take your place there if the need arises.”

  Nathan averted his gaze. “I’ll be all right. Thanks again.”

  “Very well. I will be on the other side of the coffin. I feel so blessed that I was called to this task, yet heartbroken that my daughter left the earth before I did.”

  The gentle musician’s words jolted Nathan’s memory. With all his knowledge of how his mother grew up, couldn’t Nikolai help Francesca on Earth Yellow?

  “Wait!” Nathan said, spinning back toward Nikolai. “How long did my mother live with you? How old was she when she met my father? Did you arrange their meeting?”

  “So many questions!” Nikolai said, smiling. “Let us talk afterward. It is time to go.” He walked briskly around the coffin and took his place. Then, when the director gave a hand signal, the six men lifted the casket and marched toward the burial site. As they approached, a woman standing under the canopy raised a violin and began playing Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.”

  Nathan sighed. This lady was good, quite good, in fact. But she wasn’t Mom. As she washed out a note that needed to be played with the precision of a musical surgeon, he cringed. Oh, how he longed to play with Mom! Just one more time! But it couldn’t be. Never again.

  He glanced over at Nikolai. Tears streamed down the old man’s cheeks, following deep lines traced there by years of loving care. He, too, probably wept for lost days — future days he had hoped to play with his favorite pupil as he awaited his own passing into eternity, as well as days in the past he once shared during peaceful bedtime songs and rousing morning lessons. This sad old man had more treasured memories, perhaps a greater loss. He had lost a daughter, once given to him as the result of a tragic murder, now taken away because of a devil’s wicked hand.

  Nathan firmed his chin. This occasion, though solemn and tragic, deserved the best music possible. If Nikolai could do it, he could do it.

  As they passed under the yellow canopy, he scanned the audience, about twenty-five or thirty men and women clad in various shades of gray and black, sitting or standing among at least eighty metal chairs, probably six rows with maybe fourteen chairs in each, divided in half by an aisle down the center. He let his face dip into a slight scowl. Why so few? Hadn’t Clara let all their orchestra friends know about the funeral? Or had all the news about fast-moving blizzards scared them away? A graveyard wasn’t exactly a place people wanted to go during a time of fear. Obviously parents had decided to keep their kids home. There wasn’t a child in sight.

  After setting his mother’s coffin down on the right side of a huge display of flowers, Nathan turned toward the array of chairs. Clara, Kelly and Daryl sat in the second row, one row in front of Dr. Gordon.

  Nathan strode across the fifteen-or-so feet between the coffin and the front row and whispered, “Kelly. I need Mom’s violin.”

  She lifted the case from her lap. “Right now?”

  “When I get back with Dad’s coffin.”

  Nathan headed to the second hearse with the other pallbearers. Only Nikolai stayed, pulling a violin case out from behind the flowers as Nathan left the canopy’s shade. Another man joined the group of coffin handlers, a man who looked exactly like Dr. Gordon. Nathan spun toward the chairs. Dr. Gordon was gone. Why had he joined the pallbearers? He certainly hadn’t mentioned doing that. He scanned Dr. Gordon’s face, but since he walked to his left, he couldn’t see if there was a cut on his left cheek.

  As they closed in on the other hearse, Nathan leaned toward him. “Dr. Gordon?”

  “Yes, Nathan?” He kept his face forward, not allowing Nathan to check his other side.

  “You didn’t say you were going to be a pallbearer.”

  “It was a last-minute decision. One of the other pallbearers fell ill.” He finally turned and pointed at his cheek, his unmarred cheek. “I sense that you need to see this to allay your fears.”

  Nathan let out his breath. He wasn’t Gordon Blue.

  The director lined them up again around the second coffin. With the head of the casket pointing toward the canopy, he guided Nathan to the front handle on the left side. “Your tutor said you needed to be at your father’s right hand. You were his stalwart helper and never failed in your efforts to come to his aid.”

  Wasting little time, the six men carried the coffin to the waiting mourners and placed it to the left of the floral arrangement. As they set it down, one of the men bumped a partition behind the flowers. Covered with a white sheet, the partition shook, sending the sheet rippling down the front and exposing a mirror, identical to the one in Nathan’s room, complete with divider lines separating the individual squares. The reflection seemed normal, at least for now, showing only the lush flowers and the seated audience beyond them.

  As the other pallbearers filed to their seats, Nathan glanced at the lower left-hand corner of the odd backdrop. A square was missing. Was this really the mirror from his room, or had someone transported it from Earth Blue?

  Turning back to the mourners, he found Clara in the aisle seat of the second row. His mirror lay in her lap, angled slightly toward him, allowing the polished surface to catch his eye. Across the aisle and three rows back sat a man with a familiar bearded face. He straightened his crumpled fedora and clutched the brim against his chest.

  Nathan focused on his weary eyes. It was Jack from the plane crash on Earth Yellow! He was one of the survivors! But why was he at the funeral?

  Nikolai, carrying his violin, stepped in front of the flowers and guided the bow across each string as he tuned his instrument. Kelly strode forward with Nathan’s violin, already removed from its case. He took it and the bow and, trying not to move his lips, whispered, “Fill the empty spot,” then nodded toward the mirrored partition.

  She glanced at the reflection, bobbed her head, and hustled back to Clara. As she walked, she did a double take at the bearded man.

  Trying to shut off the
distractions, Nathan turned to Nikolai and bowed. “If you don’t mind, sir, I reconsidered your offer. I will play my part if you will play my mother’s.”

  The old man smiled. “Nathan Shepherd, I can think of no greater honor.” He bent over and, taking Nathan’s bow hand, blew on his knuckles. “Music is the breath of God,” he said softly. “Let us tell of his love to these mourners and give them a reason to turn their mourning into joy.”

  While everyone else settled in their seats, Nathan quickly rolled his jacket sleeves up two turns and began tuning the violin, keeping an eye on Kelly as she sneaked around to the back of the mirrored partition. Kneeling and slowly reaching around from behind, she set the square in the corner. It seemed to jump from her hands and lock in place as if pulled by a magnet.

  A sudden gust rippled the top of the tent’s canopy, a cold gust, much colder than normal for September. Nathan shivered, glad now for the director’s jacket. But what could it mean? Had Earth Yellow already moved into late autumn?

  As most of the onlookers tilted their heads upward, Nathan stayed focused on the mirror. Starting from the newly placed square, a wave of radiance crawled along the surface, brightening the reflection to a razor-sharp clarity. When it reached the opposite corner, the strange light pulsed once and vanished.

  Kelly stayed behind the mirror, shivering as she drew her hands into her sweatshirt sleeves. When she looked up at Nathan, she pointed at the camera dangling from the strap around her neck. “It’s the only light we have,” she whispered.

  Increasing the volume as he continued to tune his violin, he whispered back, “It’ll have to do. I’m guessing Simon Blue put the mirror here, so we have to be ready to use it.”

  She nodded, then ducked low. Nathan glanced out at the tombstone-covered lawn. Snowflakes swirled through the breeze, already speckling the grass with patches of white. The mourners reached for cloaks and sweaters, apparently prepared for the unpredictable shifts in weather.

  Nikolai set a hand on Nathan’s shoulder and, seemingly unaffected by the sudden wintry blast, addressed the audience. “We wish to honor our departed loved ones — I, my cherished daughter, and Nathan, his beloved parents — with the performance of a Vivaldi duet he and his mother arranged and played together many times. As we make these violins sing, do not be alarmed if you feel the spirit of Francesca Shepherd as she bids farewell to us all.”

  Raising his mother’s treasured instrument to his chin, Nathan shook off a chill and stepped to the elderly teacher’s side. “I await your lead, Maestro.”

  Nikolai set the bow on the strings and, with a long vibrant stroke, played the beginning note of the duet.

  Nathan closed his eyes and answered with the familiar notes of his lightning-fast response. Then, opening his eyes slightly to watch the mirror, he played on, blending in with the master’s smooth, effortless tones. Soon, he would play solo. The last time he performed that part, his parents disappeared and he was left standing alone on stage, playing a solo that never ended. This time, he would watch all the players — Nikolai, Dr. Gordon, and anyone else who might spring a surprise.

  As Nikolai backed away, Nathan shifted to the center, keeping his body angled enough to see the mirror. He tried to focus on the reflection, but the music had other ideas. Every phrase seemed to massage his mind, bringing back memories of his mother. The recollections soothed and stung at the same time, blessings that reminded him of the pain of love torn away before its time.

  Then, images of his father mixed into his memories. As Francesca wept and trembled, Solomon laid a hand on her cheek, a tender caress that always seemed to calm her down, no matter what troubles stirred her turmoil. He held her close, kissing and nuzzling as sweet words passed between them like the same silvery notes Nathan played in their honor.

  Seconds from now, Nikolai would play again, taking his mother’s part at the place she had abandoned just a few days ago. As his part built to a crescendo, her final words seemed to brush by his ears. “I will join you again when the composer commands me.”

  A newcomer walked into the back of the seating area and remained standing, a tall white-haired man — was it Mictar? Patar? Dr. Gordon bent over and skulked along his row of seats, then headed toward the rear. He stood close to the gaunt man and the two spoke quietly.

  Nathan glanced at Kelly, still hiding behind the flowers. She saw them, too. Could she tell them apart? Were they Gordon Red and Patar, or Gordon Blue and Mictar?

  Suddenly, the mirror flashed. The reflection displayed bright, colorful shapes that quickly bled together to form a blurred figure, veiled by the floral decorations that separated the two coffins. Kelly crawled out and shoved the flowers out of the way, staying on her knees as she slid some to the side and knocked others over until the entire mirror came into view.

  The image clarified, showing Francesca Shepherd standing with a violin, her bow at the ready position. On one side, a sheer curtain flapped in a gentle breeze, and on her other, a poster bed with a bare mattress sat on a carpeted floor.

  Straining to keep his breathing in check, Nathan swept through the final notes of his solo. As murmurs spread across the onlookers, the reflected Francesca joined the duet, answering the composer’s call. The notes rang through like carillon bells, sharp and echoing, yet as lovely as any angel could hope to create. Nikolai, his eyes wide, lowered his violin and backed away another step.

  As if guided by his mother’s entrancing gaze, Nathan walked slowly toward the mirror, his legs heavy. He focused on her eyes. Yes, they were looking right at him. She could see him! And now her lips moved, a quiet whisper drowned out by her thrumming melody.

  Crouched at Nathan’s feet, Kelly relayed Francesca’s words. “Take a picture of the mirror.” She leaped to her feet and aimed the camera at the mirror, backing away as she framed in the coffins at each side. When she reached the second row of seats, the camera flashed. Light spread out over Nathan and everything around him — the mirror, the coffins, and even Nikolai. A sizzling beam shot out and struck the lens, smashing it to pieces.

  Kelly dropped the camera and shook her hands. “It’s hot as fire!”

  The mirror scene expanded. Their view of the inner room widened, spreading out to show Nathan’s father standing nearby, shackles binding his ankles and wrists, though the attached chains seemed broken as they dragged freely. The floor where Francesca stood pushed outward and blended into the cemetery grass as the two dimensions merged into one. The swelling dimension looked like a soap bubble with thick, rubbery walls, yet as clear as crystal.

  Francesca extended her hand and cried out, her voice now penetrating the barrier. “Take my hand, Nathan! Pull us out of here!”

  Kelly echoed the cry.

  Nathan shouted, “I hear her now!”

  In the image, Solomon held on to Francesca. With chains dangling, he raised a hand. “Son! Now is the time! Rescue us!”

  Dr. Gordon ran up the aisle, grabbed Kelly from behind, and pressed the edge of a dagger against her throat. “Don’t touch them, Nathan! If you bring them back, I’ll slit her wide open!”

  Several mourners jumped to their feet. With the blade already drawing a trickle of blood from Kelly’s tender skin, most stood petrified. Daryl lunged, but Clara jerked her back.

  Nathan’s knees buckled, but he managed to hold himself up. As a gust blew a stream of snowflakes across his cheek and flapped the canopy’s ceiling, he lifted a fist and rasped through his sandpaper throat. “Let her go!”

  Suddenly, Jack stormed up the aisle and latched on to Gordon’s wrist, pulling it away from Kelly’s throat. As Gordon jerked back to fight, the dagger swiped against her shoulder and dug deeply into her sweatshirt.

  Kelly let out a pitiful wail. Blood dampened her sleeve and dripped from her fingers. Jack wrestled Gordon to the grass, toppling chairs on the front row as they rolled to the side.

  Mictar leaped for Kelly and wrapped an arm around her chest. Three men from the audience rushed to subdue Gordon whi
le two others leaped toward Mictar. Twin jagged sparks shot from Mictar’s palm and pierced the chests of the would-be rescuers. They fell to the ground, their bodies quivering.

  The first three rescuers pulled Gordon upright. A trickle of sweat drew a purplish line down his cheek, exposing part of a bruise. Jack struggled to his feet. A bloody gash stretched across his forehead.

  As cold gusts breezed through, everyone fell into a terrified hush. Hovering a hand over Kelly’s eyes, Mictar spoke quietly. “Son of Solomon, heed my warning. If you take one step toward the gifted one, I will make this girl suffer beyond all imagination.”

  Nathan wheeled toward the mirror. The image shifted forward another few inches and stopped. Francesca and Solomon, their bodies now filling the screen, stretched out their arms as far as they could reach. A voice again punched through the barrier. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone on stage!” Francesca cried.

  “We had to change places with the Blue Shepherds before it was too late! Since Mictar had killed them earlier, we used their bodies to make him think we were dead, too. Pull us home and we’ll explain everything!”

  Nathan clutched his jacket. “Left me on the stage?” He thrust his finger toward the other dimension and screamed at Mictar. “Are they my real parents?”

  “They are,” Mictar hissed. As Kelly gasped, flinching under the ghostly hand, more blood dripped from the ends of her fingers. “But I am pleased that you found them for me,” he continued. “They escaped at the observatory, and now they will be mine once again.”

  The mirror image slowly contracted. Solomon and Francesca slid backwards, shrinking with the reflection, their hands grasping empty air. A huge gust ripped the canopy away from the stakes and sent it flying across the cemetery. Biting wind squealed through the funeral party, and heavy snow cascaded from the skies.

  “Nathan!” Kelly shouted, peeking under Mictar’s fingers. “Get them out! Hurry!”

  Nathan laid the violin down, plunged his fist through the barrier, and grabbed his mother’s hand. After punching through with his other fist, he wound his wrist in his father’s chain, set his feet, and began to pull, but they didn’t slide right through. With his feet slipping on the dampening grass, it was like dragging two dead bodies through thick mud.