I blazed at him: “It’s just a job!” Derek spluttered.
“I’ve got not beef for nakedness.” “Will you get naked so I can study you?” His face reddened. Suddenly he Was fifteen years old. “Not unless you do.” “I won’t. You’d be the only Nude person in a room full Of clothed people.”
He huffed, “Point taken.” I regretted it. Too much distance Opened up – my fault – Just when we’d been getting along So well. His solid trustworthiness After Verne’s weird creepiness. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Hey, look at this.” Bad moment was over. “That used to be mine!” It was a child’s recording Boombox – purchased from who knows what Antique garage sale. I loved it And dragged it everywhere – It had a mic and – “There’s a cassette.”
I showed how to open it. “Press play.” Verne’s voice: Cruel, whispering, insistent, Abortive calls no one sane Would ever answer. “Mirabel? Don’t think you’ll escape me. You’re in the Endgame.”
You can’t win” My teeth chattered and Derek’s eyes bugged. Verne threatening he’d find her and The longer she made him wait The sorrier he’d make her. Did she want her whole family MURDERED? Did she want her friends DEAD?
He had nothing left to lose. Through the Thirty minute cassette He attempted different ploys; He loved her – They were made for each other – She knew it had never been good With any but her. Who wouldn’t want to be Lady Verne? Wasn’t every bad thing That had ever happened to either of them Entirely her fault?
Didn’t she owe him? He’d would find her Wherever – He’d smell her out. He knew who was lying and They’d all be punished eventually.
“Call me, Mirabel. You’d better call me.” Derek and I looked at each other Pale as ghosts. “He did it,” we both said together.
As usual, Derek was thinking My thoughts. “How valuable Can they be if she abandoned them?” I produced the answer. “If she was afraid to go back? The place was crawling with police.”
Derek chose his usual role: Devil’s advocate. “What if the real Mirabel WAS killed That night?” “Oh stop With your existential questioning! Verne would have to be in on it,” I argued, And I thought each word the moment He spoke them – ‘Don’t people like Verne Prefer everyone as employees?”
We made equivalent snorts of Equivocal disgust. ‘Something in her probably did die That night.” I wanted to prove My sister was still alive, still my sister, still Connected.
We required cups and cups Of good hot sugared tea – Orange pekoe cinnamon. “Let’s construct a murder board,” Derek braved. I struggled with my memory of Mirabel’s eyes – Pleading underneath her teasing.
“I bounce between neva vu And confirmation bias.” I felt the pressure to one-up him. “Mirabel could have done the murders herself.” “Kill her own roommates?” Spoke the man who had never had roommates! ‘They made her stay in the broom closet!” Derek plays to win.
“They were helping her by hiding her, so Occam’s razor says Whoever she was hiding from Came and got her.” I made game face. “Hard Physical labor knifing two people.” “Noted.” We spread the boxes Out on newsprint. My hopes unrestrainedly high.
Hoping Mirabel would Jump out at me. “Separate in two piles,” Derek can be bossy. “Hopeless or intriguing.” Everything was hopeless: ridiculous clothes, Shoes with broken heels, endless piles of Old magazines. Union Jack sleepshirt – souvenir of Great Britain?
Cosmetics in grubby makeup kits, Hairbrushes, scrunchies, Antiquated paperbacks – (“The Power of You”) Costume jewelry of unlikely value – This was just junk! The police had Riffled through it – Dominica or anyone Could have thrown it away! Why was Mirabel illiterate?
Dyslexia? Was that the word Bruited to an eight-year-old eavesdropper – Or was she just too pretty To learn anything else? The only exciting thing was Professional portfolio Stamped MONFORT COLLEGE OF MODELING. Here’s a Mirabel I would recognize.
But all the photos seemed outdated – Shlocky, overly posed. There was one traumatic Unrecognizable Mirabel in whiteface Thorn-like silver piercings through her lip – Speechless – a cage around her Nude starved body. No wonder
She’d declared the fashion world “Shit!” Only one picture Was the “Murble” I remembered – Filled my eyes with tears – Pony-tailed Mirabel in Daisy Dukes, Washing the side of someone else’s car. Memories came surging up – Mirabel filling the kiddie pool, Decorating pancakes with happy faces, Gelling my hair to crazy shapes.
If you ran these pictures backwards They recorded something sad: the slow dawn Of knowledge as she realized beauty Would never be enough. Relieved To have one question answered. “That was really Mirabel,” I told Derek.
My real sister who Gave me to Lord Verne so that she could Get away. Derek dropped the fake nipple He was studying to look over my shoulder. “So what happened to her?”
I shook him off. Suddenly We were out of synch. To me, The truth was plain to see.
“I remember those murders” said Derek As the car struggled against downtown traffic. “The Escort Murders! Talk of the news For months – year before last. “
I was having more trouble With the concept of “Escort”! Disquiet shaded to Repugnance. Was Mirabel ALSO an “escort” or An “escort friend?” Derek was still talking but I was ignoring him. If Mirabel was a “scout” For some porn guy, it only made sense –
“Nothing about any survivor,” Derek went on, oblivious. He wasn’t perfect. Or maybe he was – And I’m the “imperfect” one. I struggled back into the conversation Like a drowning person seizing some Flotsam. ”But they arrested someone?”
“Some sixteen-year old kid From that very same building Crawled from window to window like Some kind of Spiderman. But there wasn’t a Trial because he was incompetent.” On his phone he summoned up Sheaves of bloody newsprint.
Unconversant, I admit, with HEADLINE GORE I reeled – Tabloids are OUT Getting through high school is grisly enough. “Crime’s an acquired taste,” Said Derek. “I advise against acquiring. Some things better unseen and Unknown.” Condescending?
I don’t like being banned. I regarded him with disapproval. “Didn’t I invite you on this case?” I chastised. He was repentant. “Mysteries are a game,” He defended, “But when they bring out the knives Everyone’s at risk.”
Too true. Goosebumps. Couldn’t feel safe Until both me and these boxes Were quadruple-locked behind Derek’s guarded, Security-cammed, barricaded front door. I made him show me the only other entry (In the kitchen) was suitably sealed. “Do you think Mirabel could have Really been there?” I whispered. “Locked in the broom closet?” “Would she know?” Derek queried. “It was the middle of the night.
Could she hear?” Earplugs? Ambien? “Imagine coming out and Finding them!” Derek: “But why take a year and a half to run away?” She was in denial? Too poor to Get out of town? “Or maybe” I suggested, ”She thought marrying Brit – An aristocrat at that – Was her way out.” “If the killer knew that she knew –“ Sent a hot stab right through me.
The first good reason I’d heard For Mirabel ghosting all of us. “The alternative theory –“ He hesitated, but from his expression I read his mind. “you’re thinking they got her,” I said cold as Ice. “Ugh. Let’s hope not.”
“Another mystery to solve,” said Derek. “You’ve upgraded my week! Find the killer – And maybe find Mirabel. Give her reason To come fearlessly home.” My eyes narrowed at this blatant Invitation to play hero.
We both turned to stare At a pile of dusty boxes. Not for the first time in life – It’s a recurring feature – I tried not to get my hopes up.
“Are you here about the condo?” One eye peered out at us across a solid-looking Door-chain. My voice was raw from unsuccessfully interviewing all the other tenants about Mirabel So Derek swept forward. “Didn’t Mirabel Marshott live here?” The eye rolled, then closed. “Who wants to know?” “I’m her sister,” I said helplessly.
Another bust I had assumed – But maybe my breaking voice produced Some good; next sound a gasp followed by Unlocking. “You’re the answer to a prayer,” Says the girl. Crazy! “Come in. Hurry.” Reaching out an arm to yank us safe inside. We were in a tiny 20th floor apartment
Upper East Side – I’m telling you, SMALL – entirely empty. There was A highly-polished floor and a fantastic view Of other people’s balconies and terraces. “Her stuff’s in the storage bin,” said the girl. “We have to make this fast.”
She was a tiny Filipina with literally POUNDS of Makeup. Any age between twenty and eighty. Artily dressed – expensively – I surmised – In flowing hand-painted chiffon. Checked her Rolex; Opened her Day Planner, plucked out a sticky note, wrote BACK IN 5 MINS and slapped it on the door. She pulled us outside and carefully locked all three locks.
“We don’t want them finding out about Mirabel,” She hissed – frog-marched us to elevators. Derek and I were both too stunned to speak. I, me of the short game, found words first. “Who’s them?” I asked.
“Oh, you know,” she whispered, punching the button “The killers. The guy who confessed couldn’t Possibly have done it. They’re still out there.” Derek was the first to speak At this new revelation.
“Mirabel stayed here but nobody knew?” “Right,” said our hostess, seemingly irritated By the elevator’s balky slowness. “She slept in the broom closet. It doesn’t have windows! Six kinds of illegal.
I mean, she wasn’t actually home that often. Probably used it as a mail drop – or Stayed with boyfriends while avoiding Other boyfriends. You know how it goes.” She looked me up and down as if realizing Far too late –
That I could not possibly know “How it goes.” “I heard your dad Was strict.” She pursed her lips. I wanted to defend my dad – But cared too much what Derek thought. Elevator arrived. We rushed inside.
“She was there that night?” prompted Derek. “When the – killing – happened?” “MAYBE,” breathed our Latinx, so excited to be a Bad news bear she vibrated physically. “Her friends were stabbed to death In their beds. – Franny and Jane. The killers – nor the cops – knew she was There. Mirabel took off –who wouldn’t? Now we have to sell the place – I’m Dominica – Jane’s sister.”
Uncomfortably long elevator ride Down, down, down – Seemingly to hell but Actually the basement. Jane said, “You know, you look like her. Here we are.”
A bump along the basement floor. “Mirabel kept her stuff in bins. Here, you’ll need one of these.” She slid a trolley at us. I gathered courage.“Did you know Lord Verne?” “He was a customer – we heard plenty –
She called him Violent and threatening. But Wasn’t he in Europe?” “5106, 5107 – here we are.” She unlocked a storage unit. Three boxes stood piled In the center of the floor. Marked MM. Our helper watched us load them. “Thank God you’re getting these out of here – We didn’t know how to contact her.
I’ve got to get back. There’s Going to be an auction.” “In a place where murders happened?” I was agog. She nodded fiercely. “That’s New York. It’s the Cheapest unit in a Well-placed building.
Your exit is that way.” We both stared at her clattering heels And departing back. “Well,” said Derek, “That’s plenty to chew on.” We summoned Uber and beat retreat.
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?”
I thrilled to this new Experience. “Subway’s fine with me,” I said. “I like to be anonymous.” “I know the feeling,” said Derek. “Escaping their surveillance.” Had Mirabel felt that? We clutched straps and enjoyed Studiously ignoring people Studiously ignoring us. “So, what’s the deal with that guy?”
Hissed Derek. We had to lean together to Conspire and I liked that. I Was dazzled by his dragon energy; just what We apprentice sorcereens Require. “You acted like He murdered her!” See! He’s psychic too! He read my face and Saw the fear. “Don’t worry,” Said Derek. “He couldn’t tell.
His kind’s just too self-involved. His world is him And whoever he’s picked To be his mirror. That guy Needs too damn much Gender-affirming care.” How did snotty Derek Get to be so well-matured?
“He was with me all the time –“ I excused him – “Unless They met by night. He Sneaked out once, I know it.” “Then he is a suspect,” Derek mused. “That’s what police will think. They always start With the fiancé. Nothing turns folks murderous Like the prospect of getting Hitched.
What I want to know is If he hired a girl To impersonate your sister. That would be the perfect crime – Disguise time of death, Confuse crime scene, erase The body. I study Forensics at the College of John Jay.” Wow. I’m Impressed, aren’t you?
We exited the car and rode upstairs. “I feel that was really Mirabel,” I told him haltingly, “Sending coded messages. If only I could Read them.” In my mind she swelled To Goddess shape, swirled Through the air a demi- Sorcereen.
Speak to me, Mirabel. Speak to me. “We’ll check her friends,” said Derek. Did Mirabel have friends? That didn’t sound like her – I must have looked like a stopped clock As he dragged me out the double doors.
“We change trains.” More waiting on dangerous platforms – Hovered over electric holes. Had I always been this scareable? Derek was so Reassuring. Had Mirabel ever felt this impressed By Verne? I think she went by title, Cash in hand, rather than cultivate Her gut instinct.
But climbing into trains is A skill I didn’t have. We could sit this time. I mused aloud “He wouldn’t let me see his laptop When I tried to track her phone.” “We should get our hands on that,” Suggested Derek but I was Free-associating.
“I had the most awful dream.” “You believe in dreams?” I almost hit him. Our first quarrel! But school prepared me well, Arguing my point. “People know things subconsciously before They know them consciously.”
“OK. Please Explicate this dream.” “A ruined house – Downtown Abbey on the skids. Sad and… threatening with lots of Broken stuff.” “What prompted that? Was it Something that he said?”
“He told me Mirabel wouldn’t live there – Didn’t like it.” “Intriguing,” Murmured Derek. “Maybe the secret lies in England. Let’s research this guy when we get home.”
“Bioceutically Renewed ” was so far east It was almost in the water. At the door a Sweet-faced Asian lady Expressed almost comic dismay. “Customers privacy sacrosanct! You understand.
Sacrosanct.” But Just when I would have recommended Verne get more friendly He went haughty. “We’re talking about a missing person!” “Are you police?’ “He’s the fiancé.” I tried reaching out to touch her arm – Too naïve! She shrank away.
Verne swelled. “I’d like to see The manager!” We filled the tiny waiting room. The employee backed away, alarmed & Scurrying. I was embarrassed. “She’ll call the police on US!” I hissed at Verne.
“Flunkies never do. A British title excuses Everything.” The frosty-eyed manager was neither young Nor Asian, but when I said, “This is Lord Verne, Mirabel’s fiancé and I’m her sister” Her expression changed most notably. How in our democracy could Aristocrats be worshipped? “Have you told the police?” “There’s a waiting period,” Verne said Smoothly. “We don’t want to wait.”
I put in, “We just want to find her! She was carrying Valuables. We’re afraid that she’s in danger.” Verne’s eyes raked me over, As if I’m the enemy – Willing me to pipe down. We were ushered to the inner sanctum, Unromantic room where filing cabinets threatened Wooden chairs. Not much cash here.
Ms. “Operations Manager” Consulted the computer. “She signed up for our Wedding Package But only made the first appointment. That was Days ago. I understood – er – her fiancé Was…someone different altogether.” Verne paled, lost his breath. Fell into a punitive chair.
Up to me to ask the questions. “Short, fat, bald?” “That’s the one.” The woman panicked At her own audacity. “Tells us what we need to know.” Verne was gasping like a fish And he was not a good color. I thought he might stroke out. “Contact numbers?” “Contrary to policy. I’m sorry. Her voice was cold, but her eyes were warm.
“May I get you a water?” “Please,” said Verne. “Bottled, if possible.” The moment she was out the door I raced To the computer. “Last appointment was three days ago!” I took a screenshot with my phone. Ms. Harvey returned with a bottle of chilled water which Verne accepted. I was rescued By the ringing of my phone.
“I’ve got to take this.” Stepped into the hall. “Hi,” said a deep masculine voice. “This is Derek Lowther. Is that Richenda?” Derek Lowther? Last time I saw him he was a Nightmarishly jerky twelve year old brat. (And I an eleven year old sophisticate.)
He was NOT the person I’d hoped to speak to. Pushed out through the anteroom and into The pale winter sunshine. Maybe Verne was right and he’d get further Without me. “Yes,” I told Derek unwillingly, “it’s me.” “So what’s the emergency question?” “Have you heard from Mirabel?”
He was genuinely astonished. “Has anybody heard from Mirabel? I certainly haven’t. I’m at the apartment. Do you mean, did she call here?” “Maybe you could find out If your parents have heard anything?” “They’re at a retreat in Sri Lanka. You can assume The answer’s No. What’s the hurry?”
“Mirabel is missing.” A beat of silence. I could hear his struggle to be polite. “Wasn’t Mirabel always missing?” “She came back. She was getting married. Then she disappeared. Again.” I have to admit it did not sound like an emergency.
Impossible to explain anything to a guy I haven’t seen in 3 tumultuous years Already I was angry at him. “Sounds just like Mirabel to me. Wasn’t Disappointing people stock in trade?” That was impossible to argue with. “Maybe something’s really happened to her this time. She seems to have been juggling two fiancés – Stealing diamonds and God knows what.”
I shouldn’t tell him anything. Why couldn’t I seem to help myself? Because I needed backup? Because He was my age and would look At Verne the way I did? I required A human being to speak to In this world of artificial masks.
“God. I’m sorry.” His voice really did Sound sorry. “Do you want to come here? Should I go there?” “What could you do?” I sounded like a five year old Quivering on the edge of tears.
“Help you look? I’d do anything I can.” I gave Derek the bridegroom’s address. Speaking of the bridegroom, he burst through The doors, arms full of literature and bottled water. “Hotel coupons, flight discounts Suggest where Mirabel might go. Or where Ravi might stash her. Liar! Bastard!”
I felt I must re-focus him.. “But did Ravi actually come to an appointment Or did Mirabel only use his name?” Verne paused to drink from his Chilled bottle, flicking Drops. “The appointments Were just for her.” So we were back to Lying Liar Mirabel. Not so different – As Derek pointed out – From the way she’d always been.
We climbed dispiritedly into the car. “Maybe she just wanted anonymity,” I suggested, “And used the first name she thought of. She didn’t want them to Look you up.” “But why keep it secret?” Lord Verne argued. “Have you announced your engagement Formally?”
“No. We just thought of it. No details yet.” “Well you’re press-worthy,” I suggested “And Ravi is not.” Plus married! I was guessing but Verne’s face relaxed. “True,” he smugly said. But eyed my phone suspiciously. “So who was that?”
He seemed to yearn to take my phone Check my calls. Poor Mirabel I thought. But I was seeing a way out. “Old friend of mine. He might be able to help – He’s hacker smart,” I said Sounding clueless, Meeting us at the apartment.”
A storm settled between Verne’s eyes. He needed to be My focus of attention with No competitors to mute his power. Poor Mirabel.
Over breakfast I braced myself With questions. “If Mirabel was a scout for porn – What does that mean She actually did?” Verne moaned. Why would he pretend “Shock the Virgin” is so distasteful? It’s Usually everyone’s favorite game.
“I tried so hard to make her quit,” He sighed pointedly Reminding who’s the victim here. “She looked for investors at Openings and parties.” Angry and increasingly incensed, Working himself up, He pushed his plate away. “Is that how she found you?” First question he refused to answer, Playing with his fork as if he’d stab me. I summoned up my calmest adult voice.
“Mirabel’s not where she should be. Let’s call the police. I think it’s time.” He dismissed this: “Too humiliating. They don’t know her well enough To find her. We do.” I felt just the opposite. The police look For the actual person; Verne Only wanted certain Mirabels – others It seemed, he needed to stay gone.
On a sudden inspiration – “The trash!” he raced to collar Overflowing baskets and Upend them on the counter. Good idea, I must admit. She had left with something he required That much was obvious. We attacked the problem like an archaeological Dig; separating Paper here and garbage there.
Since what we really needed was her phone – Phones more intimate than poor fungible Bodies – I considered ways To break into her account. Still, we turned up intriguing items; a “Welcome new members” card for “Bioceutically Renewed Day Spa” and a crumpled pack Of ginger parsley tea. I knew the tea Through schoolgirl gossip – Never tried it myself; Supposed to cue overdue menstruation.
Surprise! Mirabel bothered With menstruation: tiny as she was? It perhaps had other uses. Levered out the members’ card – No need to mention the tea – and tidied up the mess. Verne’s shoulders curled in Frustration. “There’s nothing here.” “I found something.” Offered him the card. He was rude. “How’s this help?”
He was tough to help And something about that made me mad. But if my school teaches anything it’s Disguise your feelings. So I said coldly, “We should check her phone.” “How can we – if she’s taken it with her?” “There might be a way if you pay the bill.” He rolled his eyes. “Now where’s my laptop?” Really, he was helpless.
“I think I saw it beside the sofa.” He blocked me from retrieving it. “You finish breakfast. I’ll get it.” I couldn’t eat with him typing In the other room. “What are you finding?” “Nothing.” He turned away.
Now we play “Baffle the Virgin”? “Mislead the Virgin?” But I had to give it to him – Verne was realer than disappearing Mirabel, fast becoming legend. There was a lot we couldn’t Tell the fuzz. For example, let’s say You wanted to kill someone But create an alibi.
It would help to have the person Seem to disappear all on their own. What if the Mirabel I’d met Was an impostor who’d somehow Managed to muster Mirabel’s Special look? If it was time for cops then It was time for parents; what On earth to tell the folks? Thinking of my parents caused My phone to buzz.
Damn that psychic link. Pressed “Ignore” but knew it wouldn’t Work for long. “Nope,” said Verne, hardboiled American – “Can’t get in.” “Does she have a “find my phone app?” Should have brought my laptop! My tiny phone screen Renders map apps useless. “We don’t have it.”
This man was a death-ray. I contemplated ways To lessen all this tension. “Well at least we’ve got Bioceutically Renewed to try. But first I must call Mom and Dad.” I closed the door for Privacy but Dad only wanted To speak to Verne.
More interested in talking to a man he’d never met Than his own kid! “Ignore the Virgin?” Verne said Mirabel just pulled a “Mirabel.” “Wedding’s off, I take it?” asked my Dad. So relieved! “Not because of anything I’ve done or said,” Verne emphasized. “She just can’t seem to cope.”
Handed back the phone. “He wants to talk to you.” “Take the first train home.” “Dad, it’s only Saturday!” “You can’t stay in some young man’s apartment. It won’t look good.” “Who’s looking?” I demanded. “Besides, he’s staying at The Stanhope,” I winked at Verne. “I can help the cops!”
“Don’t call police over a case of bridal nerves. You can’t stay there alone! Must I put your mother on? You know she’ll back me up.” “Let me call the Lowthers. Maybe they’re in town.” Longtime family friends. He subsided. “Parents are so awful,” I said out loud after Severing connections.
“They think I’m a baby.” “They want you to never age And Verne smiled wickedly. I found the Lowthers’ number and got only voicemail – Should have figured that would happen!
They were at the Cold Spring house of course! I enunciated clearly, “This is Richenda Marshott With an emergency question. Please call back As soon as you get this.” This granted me another day at least Till someone might check in.
If I spoke to any member of the family – even barf-inducing Sierra – I could fend off Dad For the full weekend. Verne looked hungrily at my phone. “What question will you ask?” “Why, if they’ve heard from Mirabel of course.”
Dropped it in my pocket. High-waist jeans Have deep, deep pockets. “I’m going to the Day-Spa,” I said, allowing him to bail. But naturally he said, “I’m coming.”
Somehow I became convinced that Mirabel was dead – murdered by Lord Verne – he must have done it because I was his perfect alibi.
If I stayed here I’d be his Mirabel forever – in my dream I Fled through shattered French windows where Sheer white curtains blew across my face and Danced like wraiths, daring my embrace. I burst out to a stone terrace littered With the broken glass Of Piper Heidseck bottles – picked my way Between the broken statues – horny Pan
Whose face had split, where cupids gaped with Fractured mouths, Vulcan lobbing Stone pineapples down the mossy garden steps. Pursued by something Too terrifying to look behind and see I saw the shadow of A naked man with antlers. At least the distant view Was glorious – pond encircling island Ornamented by gazebo – forests crowned By snowy mountains.
Surely he could not pursue me here. Something amiss about this lighting – Bleached too white – bad weather or Apocalypse; eclipse or World’s end? I can always revert to The “helpless bystander” dilemmas of childhood – Or force myself awake. Dreams multiply enigmas –
I can’t leave Mirabel Either because she’s in danger or I was. In the mirror I’m Richenda Marshott complete with morning mouth – Sunlight exacerbates a hangover – Not from overdrinking but From over-dreaming. Verne’s door was closed – It would be awkward if I’d killed him With my Benedryl But I refused to check. Men Should not be so dangerous.
Mirabel had not shown up so I controlled the empty kitchen. Some bad person – probably myself – Left out the cake – stiff and Ruined now – cardboard sugar Which I guess it always was. Tossed that out, Put the last espresso in the Microwave and Opened cabinets sadly.
Here’s the place where guests could Unpack clothes; Nothing, nothing, nothing. Empty, empty, empty. The front door unclicked – I jumped so hard I banged my head. “Ow!” And Verne cried “Breakfast!”
I hadn’t killed him after all. Seems I’m the one who overslept. His story was: “I haven’t slept so well in ages. What was That stuff?” he Eyed my mug with disapproval. “You can’t drink yesterday’s.” Lords can’t comprehend The hoi polloi.
“I brought everything.” He went on, Impossibly cheerful Considering yesterday. Waffles, eggs, fruit. Coffee. No milk? “It’s OK,” I said to his Self-recriminating face “I noticed you have ice cream.”
Vanilla works as well as milk or Even better. “Mirabel never drank milk,” said Verne. “She says it makes cowbones And soy makes man-boobs.” She would say that. Charming, charming Mirabel.
“I drink oat milk,” I told him Snootily. One-upping’s such An endless game. But when he sighed I grabbed his sleeve – “Ice cream is better.” Hard to one-up when one is Drooling. This is how one’s Compromised.
We opened the door all baited Breath as through Mirabel might be waiting but
She was not. His cold apartment Felt forlorn. Did we long for her or Fear her? Somehow, Same. Walls sucked us into Darkness, blandness. Silence. Yet if I closed my eyes I could now Summon her up as I Couldn’t have before – Not a stranger but now Part of me, a past life Alter. In her bedroom her Perfume teased us with its sexy cloud As if somewhere she was Watching. Listening. Laughing. “I’m terminal,” yawned Verne.
There’s an odd expression. “I could sleep.” I scanned the two Bedrooms, yoked by unlockable Double doors. At least my bathroom Had a lock, I could Always sleep in there. Would it be rude to remind him He was supposed to have rented A hotel room?
But if I sought politeness He did not. “Sorry there’s no telly,” He insulted me. Ignoring the fact that I possess a phone; World-portal. It’s A different generation. He lifted a hand – where would It fall? I watched with Frozen fascination as he dumped it heavily Upon my shoulder.
He stumbled words – “This has been a horrid homecoming Holiday for you.” Homecoming? No more a Homecoming than a holiday. Luckily, I’d never considered this mission A vacation. “No worries,” I tossed off lightly, “I’m getting copy for my end-break-essay.” His hand tightened painfully. I shook him off but he clenched harder. “You can’t write this!”
I am NEVER ready for this reaction Though God knows I should be – Parents and school seem equally aghast By my take on things Refusing always to grant me The power to call them out – That I was born with it. It’s my Superpower – Don’t Reject a superpower. I used both hands to de-clench His grip. This would Leave a mark. I’d no wish to rile him but He could never stop me.
“It’s all grist,” I quoted, lightly, “You know, sweet mystery of life.” He literally spat with rage. “That’s so American! Maundering on about your tiny lives, as if Gossip is the better part of Being!” I backed away, trying to control my face; Who died and made him God? I know They hate it if they think you’re laughing.
“It’s a mystery to be solved,” I reassured, “Use all the tools we get: Hypothesis, antithesis and Synthesis. Refine All possibilities.” What worked at my school didn’t Work with him. He snorted. “Here’s what comes “Of never teaching Classics! Confession substitutes for mastery!”
In my small experience Those who try to “master” Truth Will never understand it; Uncover deepest questions – Invisible to us now. Managing me, Controlling truth won’t locate Mirabel. I threw him a successful bone. “Poetry’s my specialty.”
A thing literally No one understands. He seemed relieved. “You mean like – metaphors? An allegory?” This man wouldn’t know a poem If it chucked him on the cheek. Poor Mirabel! Of course she had to leave! He’d cleared it up in Just that second; guaranteeing me Some sleep. “Good night,” He told me as he closed the door.
Another strange expression: this night Was anything but good. I chewed my lip. It’s a bad habit of mine. Let’s hope He doesn’t sleepwalk. Mother wants me to unpack first – No hope of that – these Drawers and closets were jammed With gaudy accoutrement Complete with price tags.
Because what’s the good of Acquisition without Provenance? My clothes would stay Jumbled together in their Carpetbag. I should film all this – Make a video – But where to share it?
And that’s the trouble with My school – they’re never interested in What intrigues me. And what Is that? The thing I cannot know. I’m always In the process of finding out. Behind the locked bathroom door I soaked myself in Dead sea salt. Washed My hair in watermelon mint & Rubbed myself with Mirabel’s Mango chutney cream – Still I couldn’t approximate Her clingy floral scent.
Pulling on my jammies I Welcomed this new self of mine – Solving grownup disasters by Avoiding the reasoning That caused them in the first place. There was a knock at my bedroom door – I said nothing but it opened slightly Verne’s face poked in. “Ok if I sleep in here? I just Can’t be alone tonight.” “No,” I said. “I wouldn’t sleep A wink.” The nerve of him!
“Then can I leave this door open?” He begged, “Just until I fall asleep?” Why did I feel this was some Miserable recap of many nights With Mirabel? “I have some pills to knock you out.” I Double-dosed him with Benedryl. Closed the door and Disappointed myself by falling Asleep before I could sort my Jumbled thoughts:
Cycling my museum of dreams – Christine, threatened forever by A hideous Phantom, Daphne Sprouting as a laurel tree. Was that what Verne meant by Classics? In the night’s dark heart I woke and thought I saw him standing there or Was it Mirabel – reaching through a gold-framed Mirror to warn me?
Alysse Aallyn 