The MirrorGirl

Prologue:

This is Elisabeth’s story, and Baron Samedi’s, and Hellin’s. And this is the story of the man who is known by so many names. The police call him a vigilante and a murderer, the papers call him The Nephilim. His enemies know him as the Beast. I would have no name for him, until age twenty-five, when our paths crossed and sloped down together in the lightless swamp of revenge. I was present, I watched, I wondered, and I wrote down events as I understood them.

I feel I should warn you that in this story, there are many people who are imbrued with the supernatural. If you do not believe in telekinesis, shape-shifting, mind reading, clairvoyance, ghosts, or things of a spectacular nature, then this is a work of fiction.

2091 AD

I had found it hard to think much about my lessons in school that day. Every time I tried to concentrate, my mind brought me back to the distilled and chilling earliest memories I had within my power to recall.

My earliest memories are still quite clear in my mind. I don’t know how old I was. The officers who found me stabbed a guess at seven and the certainly seemed to fit my frame and foreign verbal development. Nine years later, I was sixteen, but only if you believed that I actually had been seven when I was discovered, walking barefoot down a deserted highway in the Midwest of America, jabbering in French, with no explanation, no name and no memory of anything or anyone. My past was obscurity to me; nothing more than a blank stretch of that same sandy road, that started at the back of my heels and continued into eternity.

The really disturbing part came later, when I was old enough to speculate about what might have happened to me.

But on this day, I had shoes and I knew where I was, and I thought I knew who I was.

“I asked Sister Katherine if I could write on the nation-wide legalization of prostitution in 2047… she said that two other girls already selected that topic, but she will let me write the essay anyway,” my best friend, Elisabeth Bathory, was a welcome distraction from my dark thoughts.

The two of us were walking home late on a Friday afternoon. We went to school together, and had become good friends in the last few months. It was October and a little chilly.

I had been looking down at my shoes, mentally turning the pale concrete into the endless worn highway of my earliest memories. I shook myself and invited Elisabeth’s words to occupy my mind completely.

“I was going to write about the ‘technological advancement hiatus’ as they are calling it,” I laughed darkly and cleared my throat, “But Sister Katherine pointed out that… well, it’s really more of a lack of an event. Seeing as how we are supposed to write about an important event of the twenty-first centaury, I’ve decided I’ll probably just do it on President Beck’s assassination in 2065.”

“Oh but the tech thing is so interesting… My mom is reading a book called What We Lost, by this man named Dr. ‘something’ Lowell, who thinks that the reason scientists can’t invent anything new is because our society has made too many negative social decisions.” Elisabeth informed me as she paused outside a café to toss her gum away.

Elisabeth’s home was in sight now, and we slowed our pace a little.

“How does he explain that?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t read it.”

We were quiet for a moment while the wind picked up and ruffled our identical plaid skirts. A holographic ad beside the café flickered a little, making us both glance back, before we walked in unison toward to driveway.

“You are my only friend, who will come home with me.” Elisabeth stated with the little mysterious smile she saved for when it was just the two of us. Her auburn curls bounced against her shoulders as she skipped over a crack in the cement, and twirled to keep her balance.

Out of habit, I reached out to steady her with my hand, but Elisabeth just giggled, the way she always did when doing something clumsy and silly.

I smiled back at her. Elisabeth was my only friend.

We were both sixteen, theoretically; a couple of very silly day-dreaming young girls, at the time. I would like to think that we never really grew up and grew out of our fantasies, but of course, this is the end of our childhood, and the beginning of our true story.

Elisabeth grabbed my hand and half pulled me over the threshold, and into the front yard. We both held our breath, until we rushed across the stone path, up the stoop and into the mortuary. It was Elisabeth’s father who had informed us that it was customary to hold your breath when crossing the threshold where death lurked.

The mortuary was a fairly old building that had to be remolded a little and properly blessed to house the bodies of the dead. The sign however, was brand new. The grey and black letters offered a brief introduction; Bathory and Samedi Mortuary. This was followed by the street address.

It was only after entering the building that we released our breath. Elisabeth bent at the waist slightly, as if to bow, still grinning at me from the side of her pretty face.

The mortuary was never really empty, it seemed. Even though there was no one in sight, you could sense people in the other rooms. I was used to it by now, since I came to stay with Elisabeth so often. The front of the mortuary was warm and inviting. It was the only part that most people ever saw, with silk lined coffins on display next to lilies and landscape paintings, classical Opera music vibrated through the speakers in the far corner. It was Donizetti today, which meant that Samedi probably was not here, since Samedi hated Donizetti. The walls were toupee coloured, and everything about this opening room was calming. To the left was a viewing room that people rented out sometimes for funerals. Through the black door at the far edge of the wall, we entered into the back of the house.

“Anne,” a clear voice sounded at the end of the hall, as Elisabeth shut the black door behind us. I looked up, already smiling.

Elisabeth’s mother was the thinnest woman I had ever seen. Her waist was the size of one of my thighs, and I was not heavy myself. She was small all over, I could not be sure because she always wore very high heeled shoes, but if I had to guess, I would say she was not even five feet tall. Still, in spite of being petite, and almost childlike in appearance, she seemed to exude authority with every word. Elisabeth and I did not talk about her family much, but I had always thought that Elisabeth’s mother must be very serious.

“It’s good to see you,” she smiled at me, but her eyes were completely absent from the room. Like Elisabeth, Mrs. Bathory was a dreamer, “You know you’re Elisabeth’s only friend who ever comes to dinner.”

“Can she stay the night?” Elisabeth pleaded.

Mrs. Bathory’s smile flickered, but the far away look remained as she said evenly, “Have you forgotten? Your father and I are going to the wedding… We leave tonight for Salt Lake and we won’t be back until late tomorrow.”

“I didn’t forget.” Elisabeth corrected her, “I don’t want to stay here all alone, with the boys.”

“As long as it’s alright with Anne’s guardians,” Mrs. Bathory shrugged and proceeded down the stairs.

“It is,” I assured her, and felt a shiver grip me, as Elisabeth and me began to walk down the straight, quiet chrome hallway.

Mrs. Bathory was already dressed in her apron and gloves, as she turned into the first of eight rooms that were on either side of the hallway.

Surreptitiously, I glanced into the only open door in the hallway before the stairs. No bodies were visible this time. The room was clean and empty. The little shelves that lined the walls did not seem to have labels. No one was inside this room right now, living or dead. It was a slow day, which meant it was a good day all around.

We hurried up the stairs, to the apartment above the mortuary, where the Bathory family lived. Elisabeth’s two younger brothers were asleep together in the room they shared. Jacob was nine years old and suffering from what they hoped was the flu, while Adder was only an infant and slept close to his brother, in spite of warnings that the baby might get sick too.

I stood in the doorway, while Elisabeth talked to me from the kitchen. She was putting together a couple of peanut-butter sandwiches, having kicked off her shoes so she could slide over the grey tiles in her socks.

The boys looked very peaceful together, as peaceful as the bodies that were stored beneath them. I was tempted to check for a pulse, but feared I would wake the baby.

I saw their tiny chests moved in sync with each other and I was satisfied, as I turned around and took my own shoes off.

“I asked Jessica to come by once, before you moved here, and she said it was too creepy!” Elisabeth rolled her eyes, and flicked more reddish curls away from her neck. Her big pale eyes were focused securely on her task. “It’s really stupid.”

I traced the pattern of marble on the counter with two of my fingers, absentmindedly wishing that I had brought a change of clothes, so I did not have to stay in my school uniform. “I don’t mind, it is really not that creepy. It’s not like we sit and watch your dad or Mr. Samedi embalm the bodies.”

“I do, sometimes,” Elisabeth admitted with an evil chuckle, “When I’ve got a lot of homework, I’ll sit in there while my dad works. It’s kind of cool.” She nodded, her eyes glazed over, “They move sometimes.”

“What moves?”

“The people—I mean, the bodies,”

“They do not!” I said incredulously.

“Yeah,” Elisabeth corrected with a good natured grin, “They twitch. Sometimes their eyes even open a little, and this one time, my dad touched this guy’s palm, and his fingers curled shut on his hand. It was so hard to pry him off,” her eyes were wide as she said this, but I still did not believe her, “He had to send me to get Mr. Samedi, so he could help us.”

“You’re lying,” I accused her.

“I swear, on my life,” Elisabeth promised and handed me a sandwich.

We ate our sandwiches and argued and had a pillow fight, until Elisabeth’s father came home from grocery shopping and asked us to help him unload the car. I passed by the different rooms three times before we completed the task of carrying all the bags up to the apartment. I closed the back door of the car, and headed inside the mortuary, past the Donizetti room, and into the back hall. Elisabeth and her father were upstairs, starting dinner.

In my bare feet, the presence of coming winter was clearer outside. But the hard floor of the mortuary was colder still. The hum of the heater from above was the only sound I could hear. The smell of death often clung to Elisabeth’s clothes. The first thing I noticed about her, was the way she smelled. I had gotten used to it by now, but still, the strong scent of formaldehyde stung me, and I stopped walking. Drawn, by curiosity, but repealed by the smell to a shut door, straight across from the room where Elisabeth’s mother was working.

The handle was cool to the touch, but the door was not locked, and when I opened it, no sound hinted at my location. I covered my mouth and nose, but kept my eyes wide open.

Laying, naked and chilled on the table farthest from the door, was a body. There was a pile of satin clothes at her feet; something that someone had picked out for her to wear at the funeral. The gruesome Y-shaped stitching on her chest was clearly visible against chalk coloured skin.

I walked close to her side, and saw that she could not be older than I was. Her blonde hair was lank and straight, brown roots were growing out, above a heart shaped face with eyes that, though closed, seemed to hint to me of their dark colour. She was quite pretty, but too young. I searched for a hint of how she had died, but found nothing.

Biting my lip, I leaned closer, daring the body to move as Elisabeth claimed they sometimes did. But the blonde Angel looked so sad, and so pale. She reminded me of a depiction of the Madonna that was figured prominently at school. The smell was suddenly overpowering.

Beginning to feel sick, I turned to leave, and shuffled, slightly disoriented, from the room and upstairs to the apartment. I stumbled through the door, and saw that the baby was awake and pried from his brother. He was sitting on the floor, sucking on one of my socks. He looked at me with wide pale eyes, identical to his sisters.

Something about the way he stared, startled me. But I smiled, and the baby looked slightly upset.

In the kitchen, Elisabeth and Mr. Bathory had their backs to me, while they chatted and chopped vegetables.

My face felt hot, and I wandered into the bathroom to wash it. No sooner had I opened the door and found myself facing a mirror, than I let out a scream of shock that I had never used before. The baby sobbed in surprise as well, at hearing my distressed call.

The face in the mirror, was not my own. Instead of long dark hair, hazel eyes, familiar nose and lips, someone else’s features were borrowing my face. I knew instantly, who it was. The dirty blonde hair and dark eyes, above thin lips were too fresh in my memory to forget.

Miraculously, my face was altered to look like the unfortunate young woman who I had seen, only moments before; the blonde angel.

“Ande!” cried Elisabeth, rushing from the kitchen and dropped her knife carelessly. She was next to me, holding my hand in seconds, “What’s wrong?”

I was too startled to speak. I looked at the mirror again, and my breath started to return to normal when I saw that everything was as it should be. My face was my own. There was no hint of another person about me. I raised a hand touched my lips and eyes, still shaking, “I’m sorry,” I apologized, wanting very much to laugh, but unsure that I could manage it, “I thought I saw something.”

The baby had fussed only a little, and after beholding me, he returned to playing with my sock.

“What?” Elisabeth furrowed her brow.

“Something on my face,” I shuddered.

Elisabeth’s mouth remained an uncharacteristic frowned, but she glanced at her father and thought that perhaps we should discuss it later, I was grateful for that.

“Everything alright?” Mr. Bathory asked in concern.

I nodded vigorously, though I was not sure.

Dinner that night was a quiet affair, since Jacob was sick in bed and refused all nourishment, and Mr. and Mrs. Bathory had to rush so they could leave before nightfall. They ate quickly, while Elisabeth and I took turns holding the baby, and eating a few bites of food.

“This is the way the lady rides, tiry-tee, tiry-tee, tiry-teeeee!” Elisabeth cooed as she bounced him on her knees, delighted, Adder screamed with laughter and Mrs. Bathory groaned and rubbed at her forehead, shooting Elisabeth a warning look that she did not heed.

“Samedi isn’t coming after all,” Mr. Bathory informed his wife, as he hung up the phone from a short call. He was speaking of his business partner, and the other mortician, “He says something came up last minute and he won’t be able to go.”

“This is the way the gentleman rides,” whispered Elisabeth in Adder’s little ear, he giggled, already anticipating the next part, “Gidee-up, gidee-up, gidee-UP!”

“Maybe we’ll leave on time then,” Mrs. Bathory checked her watch, “Alright, goodbye kids,” she hurried into the bedroom to check one last time on her sick son.

“This is the way the farmer rides, WOBBLE-dee, wobble-dee, wobble-wobble!” she squealed.

Adder shrieked and laughed and made a half hearted attempt to defend himself as Elisabeth ticked his little belly and stopped bouncing her knees. Her mother kissed her lightly on the forehead and patted her baby’s belly, while her father hugged them all and hurried after his wife.

I feed the baby, since I was not very hungry myself, while Elisabeth lay on her stomach in her brother’s bed, trying to convince him to eat some soup or tea.

Adder watched me with his large eyes, his smile seemed infinite, and his appetite enormous. He fell asleep soon after this, and Elisabeth assured me, that if he had not gotten sick from his brother he would stay asleep until the next morning. We let the boys rest and put on a movie, talking late into the night about subjects I can hardly remember. School, perhaps, our teachers, the other girls, the book I had just finished writing after a year of hard work and our dreams for the future.

We fell asleep in our school uniforms in front of the couch.

Around four in the morning, a light from the window bothered me.

“Who’s that?” Elisabeth muttered groggily as she sauntered over to see outside, her little skirt and wild hair silhouetted against the headlight sheen from outside the mortuary.

I cuddled closer to my blankets, and pulled my knees up high, clinging to sleep like a drowning girl clings to rocks.

“It’s Mr. Samedi,” she said in surprise, “My dad’s partner,” she yawned, “I’ll go see what’s up… you sleep.”

I groaned a thank you, and was asleep before she left the apartment.

I awoke, on the morning of October 2nd, as the first light of dawn glistened through the windows. I rolled over, expecting to find Elisabeth next to me. But I was alone, and the spot on the floor where she had been sleeping was cool.

At first, I stayed still, and thought she must be in the bathroom, but an uneasy feeling gripped me, and without meaning to, I rose up to my feet and glanced toward the bathroom, which was empty, and the door open, so I could see my reflection in the glass. Eerily, I was reminded of the strange incident the day before, when my face deserted me and left me with a ghost.

My toes brushed across the ground as I quickly hurried to look in the boy’s room, Elisabeth’s bedroom, and even her parent’s unoccupied one. Elisabeth was not in the apartment.

“Elisabeth?” I called, as I walked down the stairs into the mortuary below.

I found her, in the warm room, lying between a coffin and a vase of lilies. Elisabeth, my only friend, was on the floor, her clothing ripped and splattered with blood. Her hair was matted and her skin alabaster between stains of blood. Her throat had been sliced.