Beyond the Reflection’s Edge (27 page)

Up above, the men in the mirror image sharpened to photo-realistic quality, moving about their scene in apparent real time. Daryl pointed skyward. “That’s Dr. Gordon!”

As if drawn by the music, Clara walked with a swaying rhythm to the center of the room. Nathan joined her, mesmerized by the scene above, an exact copy of their own chamber, yet populated by a different set of characters. Gordon was there, all right, standing next to the telescope in the middle of the room. Mictar stood next to him, looking as pale as ever. They seemed to be talking to each other in the Earth Blue dimension.

Nathan strained his eyes, trying to pick up an important detail, a bandage on Dr. Gordon’s cheek. So there had to be two Dr. Gordons, one on Earth Blue who tried to kill him and Kelly, and one on Earth Red who showed up at the high school.

As the scene continued to brighten, a third person, a woman, came into view in the background. With her hands tied behind her back, she sat in one of the rolling swivel chairs, her head up and her chin firm. Although her dark locks fell haphazardly over her face and across her shoulders, there was no mistaking her identity.

His tongue suddenly dry, Nathan could barely speak. “That’s my mother.”

The figures in the image began to change their shapes, becoming muddled and indistinct. Nathan swung his head toward the younger Francesca. Her bow elbow sagged, and her fingers slowed on the violin’s neck. Although her eyes still flashed like brilliant stars, she seemed worn out, far more fatigued than normal playing would cause. Whatever this amazing display of musical decryption and light emanation was, it obviously took its toll on her.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked.

Francesca shook her head. After taking a breath, she increased her volume again, reaching for a second wind as she whipped her bow across the strings. One of the hairs snapped and flew above her bow like a spider thread caught in a breeze.

The reflection clarified. Mictar’s thin, pale lips moved, but no voice came out. Leaning toward the older Francesca, he set his long fingers around her throat. His voice broke through the chaotic noise. “If you don’t tell me the secret of Quattro, I will feed on your eyes.”

Balling his fists, Nathan spoke through clenched teeth. “Leave her alone!”

Mictar shoved her backwards. She tipped in her chair and, unable to brace herself because of her bonds, toppled over. As she looked up at him, her expression defiant, he pointed a long, skeletonlike finger. “Take her to her room!”

Mictar stalked away in one direction while Dr. Gordon helped their prisoner up and led her in the other. Seconds later, the room in the reflection lay vacant.

“We’ve got to get there!” Nathan yelled.

“But how?” Kelly spun around to Daryl. “Is there a button on the computer that’ll send us?”

As the younger Francesca played on, her chest heaved, and her brow furrowed tightly.

“A flash of light!” Nathan dug into his pocket and yanked out the keys. He aimed the flashlight at the ceiling, but the enormous room swallowed its tiny glow.

Clara hurried toward the wall. “I’ll look for switches.”

“Quick!” Nathan called. “Before Francesca gets too tired!”

Daryl sprinted to the other side of the room. “They have to be around here somewhere.”

While Nathan rushed back to the desk to grab his mirror, Kelly stooped in front of Francesca, speaking a mile a minute.
“You can do it! You play like an angel! I wish I had talent like yours. Just hang in there and keep making beautiful music!”

Francesca let out the slightest whimper but played on, her intonation staying true. Nathan rejoined her, breathing heavily. “Just a few more notes! Just a few more!”

“I found the switches!” Daryl called.

Lights blinked on from all around the base of the perimeter. Trumpet-shaped track lights aimed their white beams toward the ceiling. The flashes gathered at the top of the dome, each one splitting into a hundred thin shafts of light that rebounded toward the floor, some piercing Nathan, Kelly, and Francesca, while other shafts surrounded them in a laser-beam cage.

The ceiling reflection slowly filtered toward them, sliding down the laser pathways and along the entire perimeter wall. Within seconds, the scene from the other dimension spread over the trumpetlike fixtures, blocking out their glow. Clara and Daryl faded away along with the failing lights.

Francesca stopped playing. Kelly clutched Nathan’s arm, her nails digging into his skin. Tensing his muscles, he ducked his head, unable to tell if the reflection was descending and enveloping them or if they were rising into its enfolding arms.

Soon, their surroundings clarified. They remained inside the observatory dome, but the telescope was turned in a different direction, only two laptop computers rested on the workstation table, and the tour group door stood wide open. The mirror above displayed the starry sky, a darker purple now, with more yellowish-white pinpoints.

Nathan swung his head toward the light switches. Clara and Daryl were nowhere in sight. A motor hummed. He spun back toward the elevator entrance just as the red numeral switched from a two to a one. “He must be taking Mom to a room downstairs. We have to follow him.”

Kelly stepped up near the elevator call button. “Think it’s safe to wait for it to come back?”

“Can’t risk it. It might show up with Dr. Gordon or Mictar in it.”

Pivoting on her heel, she nodded toward the tour door. “We could go that way, but if this dimension is the same as ours, we’d need a code to get into the secure area.”

“I don’t know that code. I just caught the door before it closed.”

Francesca raised her violin bow. “I know the numbers. The guard couldn’t cover the pad with his hand, because he was carrying me.”

“The code might not be the same in this dimension,” Nathan said, “but it’s worth a shot.”

The elevator motor kicked in with a low thud and began humming. The number above the door changed to “two.”

Kelly sucked in a quick breath. “They’re coming back!”

Nathan gave Kelly the mirror, repacked the violin and bow, and took Francesca’s hand. “Come on!”

They raced through the open door and down the carpeted hall. Kelly turned into another corridor, whispering, “This way.” After hustling to the end of the hall, she jerked open a door leading to a stairwell. Once they all filed inside and the door swung closed, Nathan pulled Kelly and Francesca into a corner. “Let’s think for a minute.”

Leaning against a wall, Kelly held a hand against her chest. “Thinking’s good. I think my heart’s kicking my lungs.”

After setting down the violin case, Nathan leaned over the metal rail and looked down the gap between the flights of stairs. “This looks like the one I used earlier.”

“Right.” Kelly took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If you go down to the second floor, you’ll be right next to where you climbed in the building.”

“So on the first floor it’ll come out near the secure area.” He turned to Francesca. “What’s the code?”

She closed her eyes tightly. “Nine, three, eight, zero.”

Nathan tilted his head. That was strange. The code on the door where they kept her and Clara was eight, four, seven, one. They followed a definite pattern. “When we get to the first floor, I’ll sneak out by myself and try the code, while you watch from the stairwell. If it works, you two follow.”

After picking up the violin and descending the stairs, Nathan opened the hallway door a crack and peeked out, keeping his mirror tucked close to his side. No one was around. So far, so good. He slipped into the hall and headed for the door to the secure area, but when he passed the adjacent hallway that led to the rear door of the observatory, a strange light caught his attention.

He looked back toward the stairs. Kelly’s eyes appeared through a tiny sliver in the doorway. Raising a finger, he mouthed, “Just a minute” and set the violin case down. Then, running on the balls of his feet, he hurried to the exit door and looked out the square window. The only light he could find shone from a fixture hanging on the curved wall of the domed building at his right. Since night had taken over the skies, not much else was visible.

Just as he was about to turn back, lights flashed — low-beam headlights. A small car drove into view, scuffing the sandy driveway as it skidded to a stop. The driver jumped out — a tall, muscular guy wearing a tight gray sweatshirt. With his oversized hood pulled up, shadows covered his face, though billows of white puffed from within. Obviously it was a cold evening on Earth Blue. Maybe the freakish weather had invaded this dimension as well.

As the driver moved to the back of the car, the trunk popped open. He withdrew a square white box, about the size of a small toaster oven. Pausing for a moment, he leaned over and peered into the car’s window as if looking for something on the backseat.

He suddenly jerked his head around. Another set of headlights
flashed into his face. He raised a forearm to shield his eyes, then, ducking his head low, rushed to the observatory.

A black Mustang convertible screeched into view and smacked into the side of the smaller car. The Mustang driver leaped out, carrying a double-barrel shotgun at his hip.

Nathan crouched and squeezed his body against the corner next to the hinges. Since the hall was barely wider than the entry-way there was nowhere else to go.

The security pad beeped four times. As the lock disengaged, twin shotgun blasts ripped into the metallic entrance, sounding like a thousand pebbles thrashing an aluminum garbage can. Something thudded against the door, swinging it open. The sweatshirt-clad man fell into the hallway still clutching the white box, now smeared with red. Lying facedown across the threshold, his buckshot-riddled body held the door open. Blood spread across the back of his sweatshirt, connecting the dozens of holes in a wash of muted scarlet.

Nathan leaped toward him and looked out the door. The attacker had broken the shotgun open and was reloading the barrels. Grabbing the victim’s wrists, Nathan pulled, but something caught. He couldn’t budge the hefty man.

Groaning, the man looked up at him. “Nathan? You really
are
alive!”

Nathan dropped to his knees. “Mr. Clark? Tony Clark?”

Tony slid the box into Nathan’s hands. “Clara sent this to your father. She said it might be his only hope.”

The gunman snapped the barrels back in place and stalked toward them. Tony pushed against the floor, and, with Nathan’s help, was able to rise to his feet. Staggering in place, he pushed
Nathan to the side. “Go! I’ll hold him off!” He pulled away from Nathan’s grip, took a long stride out the door, and slammed it shut.

Tony’s distinctive voice penetrated the metal barrier. “Back off, Jack!”

Like booming thunder, the shotgun replied with two volleys. More pellets rained on the door, followed by a thud and the scraping sound of Tony’s body sliding down the outer side.

Nathan clutched his stomach but kept silent, not daring even to breathe. He slowly eased toward the door’s window and peeked through the glass. His heart pounded. Tony lay motionless in front of the door, his chest now a ragged mess of bloody shredded cotton. Not a hint of movement. He had to be dead.

The Mustang driver, his shotgun again at his hip, stalked toward him. Although he also wore a hooded sweatshirt, the light passed across his bearded face, making the details clear.

Nathan gulped. It was the same driver from Earth Red that broke into the Clarks’ house! Or was this guy the Earth Blue version?

He ducked back into the corner and fixed his gaze on the bloodstained box in his hands. The doorknob rattled. Nathan scrunched lower and looked up. The man pressed his face against the window, making his nose look pink and bulbous. With a grunt, he thrust his shoulder against the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

Inching forward in a painful crouch, Nathan held the box in one arm and kept the mirror in front of him with his other hand, allowing him to see the window while staying as low as possible. Suddenly, the butt of a shotgun smashed through the glass, sending a shower of sharp pellets over Nathan’s back. The man stuck his long arm through and stretched for the doorknob, but it was just out of reach of his groping fingers.

When the man pulled his arm back outside, Nathan waited and listened. The mirror continued reflecting reality, nothing
that would help him decide what to do. A cold draft descended from the shattered window, carrying with it the man’s low voice, grumbles peppered with obscenities. Seconds later, a clacking noise cut into the sounds.

Nathan cringed. Was he reloading? Would he try to shoot through the door? Nathan eyed the box again. Tony’s words echoed in his mind.
Clara sent this to your father. She said it might be his only hope.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded. It was now or never. He lunged forward and sprinted down the hall.

“Hey!” the man shouted. “Wait!”

Nathan shivered. Would a shotgun blast follow the killer’s call? Just as he turned the corner toward the stairwell, a blast of pellets smashed the wall, ripping a wide hole at the intersection of the
T
where the two hallways met. The gun’s echoing boom immediately followed.

Kelly and Francesca rushed from the stairwell. “What was that?” Kelly asked as she grabbed the violin case from the floor.

“Someone shot the guy who delivered this box.” Nathan showed it to her. He couldn’t tell her who the deliveryman was, at least not yet. He needed her to stay calm.

Tucking the box under his arm again, he edged toward the exit corridor, gesturing for the girls to stay close. “As soon as we hear another gunshot,” he whispered, “we’re running for the door to the secure area. No looking back. He’s probably going to shoot out the lock and come after us, but he’ll have to reload before he can shoot again.”

“What if the code’s different?”

“Then get ready for some unexpected ventilation!”

The shotgun boomed. They rushed across the exit hall and scrambled down the additional twenty feet or so of their own corridor.