Graham Masterton - Mirror

Sister Boniface reached under the folds of her habit and took out a small leather change purse. She opened it up, and reached inside, and produced a small steel key. 'This is the very key, Mr Williams.'

'I see . . . what does it unlock?'

'I have absolutely no idea. Mrs Crossley did nothing more than press it on me, insisting that I keep it. Her throat was almost completely closed, poor thing, and she could scarcely catch her breath, let alone speak. But it seemed as if the key were terribly important, because she kept staring at me and trying to nod, and catching at my sleeve.'

Martin said, 'May I?' and took the key out of Sister Boniface's hand. It was small and plain, with the number 531 punched on it. He turned it over. The manufacturer's name, Woods Key, was embossed on it, but that was all. There was no clue where it might have come from, or what door it might have fitted.

'Whatever secret this key was guarding, it probably vanished years ago,' said Dr Rice.

Martin said, 'It looks like a suitcase key. No — maybe it's a little too big for that. A locker room key, what do you think? Or the key to a cash box?'

'Could be anything,' said Dr Rice. 'Sister Boniface showed it to us before, and we tried it on every locker and cupboard we could find. We thought we might discover a hidden fortune, I suppose. Pretty fruitless exercise. All it proved was that it didn't fit any of the lockers in the hospital. I think Dr Weddell took it down to the bus depot one afternoon and tried locker number 531 there, but that was no use. It didn't fit the lockers at any of the local airports, either.'

'Well, it's probably a bank key or a hotel safe-deposit key,' said Martin. 'In which case we have about as much chance of finding it as a —' He was about to say 'cat in hell' but suddenly thought of that stinking brindled tomcat snatching at his eyes, and left his sentence unfinished. Despite the midday heat, he shivered, and felt uncomfortably cold.

Sister Boniface said, 'Mr Williams, why don't you keep that key? Perhaps you can find the lock it fits. You are the one who is closest to Boofuls now. Perhaps Boofuls will himself tell you.'

Dr Rice laid a hand on Martin's shoulder. 'Go on, take it,' he said. 'It'll make her feel happy.'

'Sure,' Martin agreed, and slipped the key into his pocket.

They walked back across the hospital courtyard. Martin turned around, shielding his eyes against the sunlight. Sister

in

Boniface had returned to her vege-burger and was placidly munching it.

'She's tormented, you see,' said Dr Rice. 'She can t decide if she's been blessed with a vision of heaven or cursed with a glimpse of hell.'

Martin took out the key. He felt, oddly, that he had always been meant to have it; in the same way that he had been meant to buy the mirror. He also felt that - one day soon - he was going to discover what lock it fitted, what secret it hid. The trouble was, he wasn't at all sure that he wanted to know.

CHAPTER FIVE

He drove back to his apartment late that afternoon to find a rusty blue and white pickup parked outside and Ramone arguing with Mr Capelli in the front yard.

'Hey, what's going on?' he asked, slamming his car door and crossing the sidewalk.

Mr Capelli immediately looked around. 'They let you out of hospital? Look at you! You look like the curse of the mummy's tomb!'

'Thanks, Mr Capelli, I feel better already. What's wrong here? Didn't Ramone pick up the mirror?'

'He says he can't,' Mr Capelli interjected before Ramone could open his mouth. 'He says it's too heavy, he can't lift it, and / can't help him, my doctor will do worse to me than that cat did to you.'

Ramone lit a cheroot and inhaled the smoke up his nostrils. 'This guy thinks I'm Arnold Schwarzeneggs-benedict or something.'

'Oh, come on, Ramone,' said Martin. 'The mirror's heavy but it's not that heavy. I moved it myself the other evening.'

'Well, maybe you did, but you must have been taking some kind of evening classes in You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine. / can't shift it, and that's all there is to it, and if you want to call me Mr Weak 'n' weedy, well, there's nothing I can do about it, because, man, that mirror will not move.''

Mr Capelli tugged and twisted at the crocodile on his Lacoste T-shirt. It was a nervous habit, that was all. When he wasn't wearing a Lacoste T-shirt, he twisted his back hair around his finger. 'This fellow, he doesn't even try! You and me, Martin, didn't we carry that mirror inside the house, just you and me, and God knows what kind of a physical shape I'm in! I surprise myself I'm not dead!'

"3

'Plenty of people your age are,' Ramone retorted. 'And some of them ain't, and should be.'

'Come on, let's take a look,' said Martin. 'Ramone and I can probably manage it between us.'

'Thinks I'm Arnold Schwarzenfriedeggs,' Ramone grumbled as he followed Martin and Mr Capelli upstairs.

They reached Martin's apartment. The door was open, and they could hear singing. High, piping singing - Emilio. Martin stopped and listened, and felt a sudden surge of fear. 'I thought I told you not to let Emilio up here, for Christ's sake!' he barked at Mr Capelli, and he bounded up the last flight of steps three and four at a time.

'Sur . . . wannee Song! Suwannee Song!' Emilio was singing.

Martin burst into the room. The door shuddered. Emilio

was marching up and down in front of the mirror, his head

held high, his elbows swinging, his knees prancing like a young

circus horse.

' You can blow your flute and you can bang your drum and

you can march along!'

Martin turned toward the mirror. For one fraction of a fraction of an instant, he thought he glimpsed Boofuls, prancing up and down the mirrored sitting room. But then all he could see was Emilio's own reflection, brown eyes bright, dark hair

shining.

'Sur . . . wannee Song! Suwannee Song!'

'Emilio?' said Martin.

Emilio stopped marching and turned around. 'Hey, look at you!' he gasped. 'You look just like the mummy!'

'Thank you,' said Martin. 'But didn't I tell you not to come up here anymore?'

'He wanted to play, that's all,' Emilio protested.

'Hey, now - who wanted to play?' Mr Capelli demanded. 'There's nobody here, just you and us.'

'Well, Mickey Mouse, of course,' Emilio replied, wrinkling up his nose in sarcasm. Without hesitation, Mr Capelli pushed his way past Martin and slapped Emilio hard across the side

of the head.

'You don't talk like that to your elder-better! You dare! You want to grow up to be a deadbeat?'

"4

'The way he's going, I think he's probably going to grow up to be President,' remarked Ramone laconically.

'That's what I mean!' Mr Capelli retorted.

Emilio's eyes were wet with tears. He rubbed his head and said, 'I'm sorry Grandpa. But he was here. That boy, Boofuls. He learned me that song.'

Mr Capelli clutched Emilio close and affectionately scruffed his hair. 'Eh ... I'm sorry, too. It's my fault. Martin told me not to let you come up here. Eh, no crying, unh? I'm just your silly old grandpa.'

But Emilio struggled free from his grandpa's embrace and turned toward the mirror. 'He's gone,' he said sadly. 'You frightened him away.'

Mr Capelli chuckled and shook his head. 'Some imagination, hunh?' But he looked toward Martin, and Martin could see the anxiety in his eyes. Mr Capelli believed in things that lived in mirrors; and Mr Capelli was afraid of them.

'Now, then, let's get this mirror out of here, hey?' Mr Capelli suggested. 'You can take one end, Ramone; and you can take the other end, Martin; and lift; and then I can direct you down the stairs.'