Beyond the Reflection’s Edge (2 page)

Clara disappeared into the bathroom and returned in a flash, brushing lint from his tux. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

“Sure.” He picked up his elastic exercise strap and karate belt and threw them into the suitcase. They were essential items. Since his dad was planning to rent an RV for a month-long trip out West, with all that driving, he had to do something to stay in shape. They’d have a whole month with no wild getaways, no running from crazed neo-Nazis, no dodging bullets from Colombian drug dealers. Sometimes those scrapes with death gave him a rush, and decking a thug or two with a well-placed karate chop was always a thrill, but … He gazed at his motorcycle helmet and let out a sigh. It was probably better to avoid trouble than to dance with it. That’s what his father always said.

Clara peeked out the window again. “The driver just got out, and I think he saw me.”

“Here we go again.” Nathan slapped the suitcase closed and zipped it up. “You got an escape plan?”

She snatched up her own suitcase. “There’s an emergency exit down the hall. I’ll call Mike and tell him where to pick us up when we find a place that’s not so dangerous.”

Nathan tucked the computer under his arm and grabbed the strap of his red backpack. “Yeah, like ground zero at a nuclear test site.”

As the sweet tones of a divinely played violin faded, applause exploded from the audience. Two hundred exquisitely dressed ladies and gentlemen leaped to their feet, volleying a hailstorm
of “Bravos” toward the stage. A beautiful, raven-haired woman tucked her violin under her arm and bowed gracefully.

Her ivory face slowly reddened as the cheers rose to a climax, the scarlet hue a stark contrast to her satiny black gown. Her smile broadening, she focused her eyes on a man in the crowd, the tall gentleman standing next to Nathan — his father, Solomon Shepherd, clapping madly. His old Nikon camera bounced against his chest, dangling from a long strap.

While his mother’s strings still sang in his ears, Nathan clapped until his hands ached. Would anyone ever match such a virtuoso performance? She bowed again, now laughing joyfully at the adulation. Nathan clapped even harder, his heart leaping into his throat as he added a loud “Brava!” His own mother, Francesca Shepherd, the greatest violinist in the world!

When the applause finally settled and everyone took their seats, Nathan noticed a change in his mother’s countenance. She glanced around the stage, two familiar worry lines now etching her brow as her cheeks paled.

Nathan looked at his father. On his opposite side, Dr. Simon, short and bald with owl-like eyeglasses, stared at a text message on his cell phone. Dr. Simon angled the tiny screen toward them, but it was too far away to read. He said with a hint of a British accent, “Mictar is on his way. There is no time to lose.”

Tensing his jaw, Nathan’s father lifted a hand and displayed four fingers. His mother nodded, then stepped forward, her long dress sweeping the platform. After pulling a microphone from its stand, she cleared her throat and spoke with a trembling voice. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’m overwhelmed by your response.” She pointed her bow toward someone in Nathan’s row about a dozen seats over. “I want to thank my first music teacher, Nikolai Malenkov, for being here today. Without him I would not be playing violin, nor would I even be alive. When my mother died, he took me into his home, and he and
his dear wife gave every bit of love a grieving ten-year-old could ever want.”

The crowd clapped again. His face beaming, Dr. Malenkov nodded, spilling his familiar unkempt gray hair over his signature large ears.

She turned toward Nathan. “I hope you have saved some warmth for our next performer, a young man who is on his way to stardom. I find no greater musical pleasure than to accompany him in our favorite duet.”

His father leaned over and gave Nathan a one-armed hug. “Play your heart out, son, and never forget how much your mother and I love you.”

As he returned the hug, Nathan peeked over his father’s shoulder at Dr. Simon. The shorter man pursed his lips tightly but said nothing. Nathan whispered, “What’s going on?”

“Please welcome,” his mother continued, “my son, Nathan Shepherd.”

Applause erupted again. His father pushed him back and gripped his shoulders firmly. A strange tremor rattled his voice. “Remember what I’ve taught you, and every thing will be fine. If you ever get into big trouble, look in the mirror I gave you and focus on the point of danger. Nothing is more important.”

Out of time to ask more, Nathan rose and headed toward the aisle on the right. As he squeezed past Clara’s silk-covered knees, she patted his hand, her eyes glowing with pride. Her bright face, beautiful smile, and lovely white evening gown made her look half her age.

With his father’s strange words echoing in his mind, Nathan felt as though he were floating outside his body, watching himself climb the four steps to his mother’s level. The arched windows to his left cast filtered sunshine into his eyes as his shoes clicked along the hardwood stage.

When he drew near, his mother took his hand and pulled him close. She whispered in his ear and laid his violin and bow
in the crook of his arm. “Just take a deep breath, my love, and follow my lead. Let your heart take over your hands, and your strings will sing with the angels.” She kissed him on the cheek, then blew softly on his bow fingers, a ritual she began when he first took up the violin at the age of three. “To bless your playing,” she had said. The warmth of her breath always calmed him down.

The audience quieted to a hush. Nathan raised the bow to the strings, his eyes locked on his mother’s. He pressed his calloused fingers against the fingerboard, peeking out of the corner of his eye to catch his dad.

Strange. He was gone. And so was Dr. Simon.

Nathan shivered for a moment but refocused on his mother as she laid her own bow on her strings. With a long, lovely stroke, she began, her violin singing a sweet aria that begged for another voice to join it. As if playing unbidden, Nathan’s hands flew into action, creating a river of musical ecstasy that flowed unhindered into the first stream of joy. The couplet of harmony joined in a celebration of life, part of Vivaldi’s dream of four perfectly balanced seasons played as a sacred offering to their Creator.

His mother leaned close to him, as close as their vibrating bows would allow. As their strokes slowed, bending the music into a quiet refrain, she reached a rest in her part of the piece and whispered, “It is time for a very long solo, my love. Play it with all your heart.” He glanced up at her, his fingers playing on their own. A tear inched down her cheek as she continued. “I will join you again when the composer commands me.”

She backed away and lowered her bow. Nathan played on, closing his eyes as he reconstructed Vivaldi’s theme, building measure upon measure until the composer sang spring into birth, new melodies sprouting forth from earth’s womb in all their majesty.

His heart sang along. This was the best he had ever played
the piece, but he was glad it would soon be time for his mother to rejoin him, an arrangement they had created a dozen weeks ago to showcase his talents. But when the expected note from his mother didn’t arrive, he flashed his eyes open, his bow scratching out a warped reflection of the notes.

Where was she? He laid his bow limply on the strings as he stared into the audience, scanning the dumbfounded faces row by row. His father’s seat was still empty. Now Clara’s was vacant as well. The auditorium seemed to swell in size, making him feel like a shrinking mouse, all alone up on stage with a toy violin and bow.

The onlookers buzzed with whispered words. Nikolai rose to his feet and pointed at a door to the side of the stage. “Your mother went that way Nathan.” He spoke in a kind, soothing voice. “Do you think she is ill?”

“I … I don’t think so.” Nathan cleared his throat. Now he was even sounding like a mouse. “She didn’t mention anything.”

A muffled pop sounded. Nathan flinched. What could it have been? A blown circuit? But the lights were all still on.

The audience grew restless in the awkward silence. The side door opened, and Dr. Simon walked to center stage. After lowering a microphone stand to his level, he wrung his hands nervously. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he called, his British accent now amplified, “please pardon the interruption. Nathan’s parents had to leave unexpectedly. We will have a short break and then hear from our guest pianist.” Shifting away from the microphone, he nodded toward Nathan. “Please come with me, and I will escort you home.”

Nathan stayed put, staring blankly into the performance hall. As the audience filtered toward the back, a loud “Excuse me!” sounded from his left.

Clara stood at the side door Dr. Simon had just entered. “I will take Nathan home,” she said.

Dr. Simon pushed his glasses higher on his nose, his eyes
darting all around. “Well … I suppose that will be suitable.” His gaze locked on the room’s main entrance behind the last row of seats. Two men stood near the doorway, their arms crossed as they stared at the stage; one, a tall white-haired man with a thin, pale face, and the other, a man of average height wearing a navy blue blazer and khaki pants.

Dr. Simon tugged on his collar. “Clara, please meet me in the main lobby in fifteen minutes. I have some important information to give you.” His hands wringing again, he pattered off the stage and hurried toward the exit.

Nathan hustled to his tutor. “What’s up?” he asked, glancing back at Simon. “Everyone’s acting so weird!”

Clara yanked him through the doorway and into a dim hall. “Come with me!”

She led him briskly down the short corridor and flung open a door on the left. Inside, a steep staircase descended into darkness. Laying a finger on her lips, she set her foot on the top step and gestured for him to follow. Once inside, she closed the door and whispered so quietly he could barely hear. “While you were going up on stage, your father and Dr. Simon took off toward the exit in the back, so I followed.”

A dim glow from somewhere on the lower level gave them just enough light to see each other’s faces. Holding on to his elbow, she descended the creaking steps slowly and hurried through her words. “When I got into the foyer, I caught a glimpse of your father and Simon ducking into the hall, and I managed to stay close enough to watch them go down these stairs. I tried to listen from up here, but I could only hear violin music and a lot of whispering. Then I heard a gunshot.”

“A gunshot? Are you sure?”

“Positive. Right after that, Dr. Simon ran back up the stairs, so I ducked behind the door. I don’t think he saw me, so I just followed him back to the stage.”

When they reached the bottom, they came upon two open
doors, one in front that led into darkness and one to the left, the source of the dim light. Carrying his violin by its neck, Nathan peered into the darker room in front. A glow from a hidden source revealed a system of large air ducts hanging from a low ceiling and a narrow wooden catwalk leading away from the door.

Nathan took a step through the door on the left. A bare bulb in an old lamp sat atop an antique desk, illuminating a hodge-podge of items in the eight-by-eight-foot chamber — hard-shell suitcases, sports equipment, wicker baskets, ancient typewriters, and two unvarnished coffins, each sitting on a low table in front of a head-high, tri-fold mirror. He blinked at the odd collection. Were the coffins stage props? Maybe they had recently put on a vampire skit.

He took another step. As he closed in, a body in each box came into view, barely visible in the lamp’s weak glow. His legs suddenly weak, he stumbled into the gap between the two tables that held the coffins. Even in the dimness, their identities were unmistakable — Solomon and Francesca Shepherd.

Clara grasped his arm. Her mouth dropped open to speak, but she said nothing.

His heart racing wildly, Nathan could only clutch the coffins and stare at his parents. The bodies inside lay still, pale, and quiet. A dark blotch covered his father’s breast pocket, and a hideous cut ripped open his mother’s throat. Blood soaked her lovely gown, the same one she had so gracefully worn onstage only moments ago.

He shook his head and dug his nails into the wood, dizziness swirling his vision. “It … it can’t be …”

Pain streaked Clara’s voice. “It is.” She pointed at an ornate gold band on his mother’s finger. “Look at her ring. There’s not another one like it in the world.”

As a creaking stair sounded from above, a familiar British voice carried into the room. “Clara, I distinctly told you to meet me in the lobby. Coming down here was a big mistake.”

She looked at Nathan and whispered, “Dr. Simon?”

Nathan didn’t answer. He just bit his lip and drilled a stare right through the wall in the direction of the voice. If that creep had anything to do with this, he would —

“I intended to explain what happened here without exposing Nathan to this carnage.” Simon reached the landing and aimed a flashlight beam into the room. “It is most unfortunate that events have played out this way.”

Clara pointed a shaking finger at a coffin. “What do you know about this?”

“Everything. I arranged it. You see —”

“You
what?
”

“If you could understand the circumstances …”

Nathan raised his stiffened arm and pointed at his mother’s body. “They’re fake, right?” He felt a trembling smile grow unbidden on his lips. “They have to be fake.”

Dr. Simon let out a sigh. “I’m afraid they’re quite real. Their deaths are a most unfortunate —”

“You monster!” Clara cried.

Raising a finger to his lips, Dr. Simon glanced at the doorway and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Now that my plan has gone awry, I need to make sure that your accidental discovery doesn’t hinder our pursuits. I had planned for Nathan to join his parents, but if you continue shouting, we could all end up in coffins.”

Nathan pointed at himself. “You planned for
me
to join them?”

“In order to protect our secrets, Dr. Gordon and I decided —”

“Who cares about your secrets?” Sucking in quick breaths, Nathan balled a fist so tight, his fingers throbbed. “Just back off. I’m walking out of here, and I’m taking my parents with me.”