Tag: #UnsolvedMysteries

Chapter 19 – The Escort Murders

“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.

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?”

Chapter 16 – Dragon Energy

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.”

Chapter 14 – Derek

“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.

Chapter 13 – Shock the Virgin

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.”

Chapter 12 – Dreams Multiply Enigmas

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.

Chapter 11 – Perfect Alibi

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?

Chapter 10 – The Psychic Link

Power is a heady thing.
Maybe it meant I’d get some

Questions answered.
“You really think she stole his jewels?”
He pulled away.

“He her diamonds as a wedding gift.”
Well, THAT seemed weird.
I recalled the rock weighing down
Mirabel’s left hand.
If he threatened prosecution
Would that make her disappear?
“At least he gave one lead.
Jacobson’s.” Verne’s face set
Mulishly. “A toady.”
If I was in charge I must be
Boss. No more of this false modesty.
“How long’d she work for him?”
Sore subject! He thrashed in his seat
Like a captured cat.

“Years. I took her to England
So she’d break things off
Only to discover
He was still hounding her with
Requests.” Requests?
“What requests?”
Fingers drummed. “Scouting.”
“Scouting for what?”
“Well, he’s a porn producer.”
Verne touched my knee to
See into my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Was this the secret Mirabel
Did not want me to know?

Was this why she disappeared?
“Was there…anything between them?”
“Definitely at first. I wooed her away.”
He considered. “He disappointed her somehow.”
Not hard for married men to do!
Verne looked at his hands.
“He asked her to launder money
Buying diamonds. I think it was a trap.”
I caught on quick.

“He set up the theft?”
In Ravi’s mind was he the only
Rightful owner and
Everyone else a thief?
Verne explained:
“He wanted people around
Who couldn’t get away.”
Why did that sound like such
A perfect description of Verne?

Here’s Mirabel surrounded with
Men wanting to possess her
Utterly. I shuddered.
It made ME long to disappear.
It also made it less likely she escaped
To be with one of them.
“Where’s Mrs. Ravi?”
“He SAYS his wife lives in Paris. But
No one’s ever seen her.”
Could we have two, not just one
Missing brides? Was marriage itself
A disappearance?

As we conversed
Another limo pulled up,
Beaver-coated man rushed out –
Ravi! And off they went.
I made my decision.
“Follow that car.”
Back to Brooklyn!
Obviously that address meant something
After all. “Stop here,” I ordered
At the final turn. Now that we knew
His destination why risk
Confrontation?
“But he lied to us!” Swore Verne.

“Just watch,” I argued,
“He’s one step behind.”
Ravi vaulted from the car
Phone clutched to ear,
Shaking his fist at the darkened sky.
“Look. He’s blowing up her phone.
And see? She’s not answering,”
Unwillingly Verne traversed
My argument. “She’s long gone. Maybe
She kept a vehicle here.”
“She didn’t have a license,” quibbled
Verne. But he seemed oddly cheered
That Ravi didn’t have her, either.
And maybe, even late-arrived
I was his authority on. Mirabel.

That’s not nonsensical
I already felt I knew her
Better than he ever could.
Why bother telling him
How easily fake licenses are obtained –
Girls must have some secrets.
“Maybe it was my mistake to insist
We meet her family.”
He chewed his lip. I saw
His sly technique – HE was responsible
For my presence here, not Mirabel!

He was a liar too.
“Let’s sleep on it,”
I suggested. “Give her a chance
To contact us.” It would take Benedryl
To sleep with all this buzz. I wished
He’d take his hand off my knee
But why say that
Just when we got along
So splendidly?
She wasn’t here. She’d get as far as possible
From anywhere associated
With these two men.
But why WAS I involved?

That’s the deepest mystery here.
Now Verne was trying to hold
My hand, laying his head
Awkwardly along my shoulder.
“You’re such a comfort.
Did you share her sister secrets?”
I could feel him luring
Me to play fake with him.

My parents do it all the time
Begging for that
Opiate of reassurance.
I can’t do it with them
And I couldn’t start now.
“Buck up –“
I braced him, “We’ll
Know more tomorrow.”
He unleashed my hand and
Glared at me distastefully.

“I blame this new androgyny,”
He complained. “Girls have lost the art
Of coquetry.”
And a good thing too, I thought.