The Missing Bride: a cellphone novel by Alysse Aallyn

Chapter 17 – The Ruined Manor

Derek’s family place was a
Penthouse atop the
Museum Mesko. Mostly glass.
In the “reserved” elevator
Derek grilled me:
“What do YOU think happened?
Think she ran away?”
Unsure of speech when hurtling so fast
I breathed relief when earth returned.

“I think she ran away.”
“Then why invite you?”
“That’s what I can’t figure out.”
I couldn’t tell him she’d bought me
A bridal dress.
That prospect is too terrible. But
He sort of knew anyway.
“Good that you got out of there.”
Through his folks’ dark foyer,

With the Tiffany lamps and stacks of mail
He led me to a long living room
With at least six sofas and the most
Fabulous view. Enough modern art to
Give anybody nightmares.
City laid out
Beneath the clouds.
I proclaimed it “Ravishing.”
“Want something to eat?”
Why was I always hungry?
Is it hunger, anxiety or
Existential despair?

Existential despair can make a person
Fat. The microwave pinged.
“I can’t believe you didn’t Google this guy.”
I can’t believe I didn’t either.
Explained why Mirabel failed
To give us his real name.
Derek was too good
At pointing out the illogic of
The world I’d just escaped.

Or was I too impressed
By his parents’ glamorous digs?
Was this decompression what Mirabel
Was going through now?
Were we joined together in
The project of carving a life
Away from weird and
Wilder men?
“Mirabel,” I breathed.

“She doesn’t make it easy.’
He levered out a plate of nachos,
Sprinkling salsa
Sour cream and guacamole.
“I may need a bib.” So
He provided napkin pile.
I couldn’t keep it to myself.
“Our dresses matched.”
“What?” His mouth was full.

“My bridesmaid dress matched
Her wedding dress.”
He got it. “God. That’s awful.
You were her replacement.”
I dumped nachos into my despair.
“Coffee? Tea or juice? My sister has
A drinking problem and
The wine is all locked up.”
“Sierra?” Couldn’t picture it.
‘She’s in treatment.”

“Coffee will be fine.”
I googled while he went to get it.
The news was bad.
“His house looks like my dream!”
Valerian Hall, Verne’s “ancestral home.”
“There’s even a lake with folly.”
“Swear you didn’t look before?”
This Derek was persnickety.
“I didn’t. Don’t you think sometimes
Absorb from others’ minds?”

Giving him a second chance.
Derek worked his logic:
“God I hope not.
Remote viewing? Maybe it’s a skill
That can be cultivated.”
“Peer Loses Bid to Break Entail.”
Screamed headlines as I scrolled.
Down, down, down.
“Looks like he couldn’t get his money out.”
Derek typed – my research wasn’t
Enough for him.

“He can’t go back because
There’s a warrant out for his arrest,”
“Look at the site!” I argued. “How could Royal Gossip
Know anything of value?”
“I admit you can’t trust exclamation points,”
Derek concurred. “It’s not enough to extradite.”
“Does give reason to avoid police.”
I rose abruptly, needing a bathroom
Relieve myself one way
Or another – heading blindly
Down the hall. “There’s a bathroom
Off the kitchen.” Just around
The corner from a refrigeration wall.

I checked myself in the bathroom mirror,
Refusing to throw up. Remembering
Poor Sierra in some kind of rehab
I owed it to her to conquer these
Demons. Saw a girl too
Hollow-eyed, a girl who needs a tan.
Different from my made-up,
Russian hooker, ex-Mirabel self.
“I found the cause of his arrest,” said Derek
As I soldiered back. “It’s GBH.”
“The party drug?”
“No. Grievous bodily harm. He attacked someone.”
“A girlfriend?”
“She’s described as “lover.”

Found that I could picture it.
Shivers. I’d only seen him
Focusing that rage on rivals
But what if Mirabel hadn’t left?
Derek moved effortlessly from coffee to seltzer.
“This is more fun than a video game.
Maybe I’ll transition to “criminal justice”.”
“Do your parents like the forensics stuff?”
“No. They push Wealth Management.
Fundraising, Tax Avoidance.”

He made a disgusted face.
“Dull, dull, dull. Rule breakers, though –
Their care and capture –
Don’t you find that interesting?”
Was Mirabel breaking rules? Or
Breaking herself against them?
“She was looking for a world where
You don’t have to be lying every minute.”
“How do you know?”

“She said bridegrooms
Get in the way.”
Some things you just know.
“Maybe we’re all impostors,” I suggested,
“Until we find out who we really are.”
He googled. “Impostor syndrome.”
We played dueling phones.
I corrected. “Capgras delusion.
You think everyone’s a fraud.”

“Neva vu, I call it. When the usual suddenly
Seems so unfamiliar.”
“Fake it till you make it?” I inquired.
“Doesn’t that make everyone a fraud?”
“I have no social media,”
Derek said. “Because I won’t get stuck.”
Look at what they post!

I lie awake ready for the universe
To turn upside down and inside out.”
I liked him more and more.
“Glad you’re not a snarky Goth.”
He congratulates.
“Who says?” And we
Both laughed. No luck at the Brooklyn address –

Far from traffic cams –
Spa camera too was on the fritz.
Searching for friends led to Mirabel’s
Last address: apartment building
On the Upper East Side.
“Well, it’s something,” We both said together.
Derek said, “Wanna go see?”