Graham Masterton - Mirror

'Fifteen weeks,' said Miss Redd. 'Fox is going to put everything possible into it. All the best technicians, the best lighting cameramen, the best choreographers, the best musicians. They've already chosen Marcus Leopold to direct. It's going to be a marvel.'

'And you give me your solemn oath that when it's finished, you'll let Emilio go?'

'On the night of the premiere, we will let Emilio go.'

Just then, Mr Capelli came to the door. He stood and stared at Miss Redd in silent indignation.

Miss Redd said, 'I sincerely apologize for all the pain we have caused you, Mr Capelli. But sacrifices have to be made in all great causes.'

'They're moving out,' Martin told Mr Capelli. 'They're going to stay on the Fox lot until the picture's finished; then they promise they'll let Emilio go.'

'There is one more thing,' said Miss Redd. 'During the production of the picture, you will not attempt to come near us; nor speak to us; and neither will you speak to anybody else about us. You will remain silent and patient, and you will guard the mirror.'

Mr Capelli said, 'You, lady, are a harlot from hell.'

Miss Redd slowly and elegantly blew him a kiss. 'And you, sir, are more right than you will ever know.'

With that, she climbed the stairs back to Martin's apartment and closed the door.

Mr Capelli shook his head. 'We should call the cops, you know that?'

'Oh, yes? And what do you think the cops are going to say? "These people kidnapped your grandson, sir? Okay, where is he? In the mirror? Excuse me, sir, while I call for the men with the butterfly net."'

'Well, you're right,' said Mr Capelli tiredly. They went back into the apartment and closed the door behind them.

'There's just one other possibility,' said Martin. 'I could call Father Quinlan at St Patrick's Theological College. He's an exorcist — you know, a proper official exorcist. Once Boofuls and his lady friend have moved out - well, maybe, he could try to exorcise the mirror, I don't know - maybe he could get Emilio back for us that way.'

'Exorcist?' asked Mr Capelli, shaking his head.

Martin looked up St Patrick's in the telephone directory and then dialed the number. The phone rang for a long time before anybody answered. It was a solemn, young-sounding man.

'Can you put me through to Father Quinlan, please?' asked Martin.

'I'm sorry, I regret to tell you that Father Quinlan died this afternoon.'

Martin was shocked. 'He died? Oh, my God. How?'

'There was a car crash on Santa Monica Boulevard. He was killed instantly, I'm afraid.'

God, thought Martin, we actually drove past that crash. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I don't know what to say.'

'Did you know Father Quinlan well?' the young man asked him.

'I only just met him. My name's Martin Williams. I met him along with Father Lucas.'

'Oh, yes, I remember,' the young man replied. 'I was the one who let you in. Actually, Father Quinlan had an envelope for you in his car. He must have been on his way to give it to you. The police found it in his car, down the side of the seat. I've got it here if you want to collect it in the morning.'

Martin frowned. 'No, no. Open it, read it to me over the phone.'

'Are you sure? It'll take a minute to go get it.'

The young priest was away for almost two minutes. When he returned, Martin heard him pick up the receiver and tear open the envelope.

'Here it is. "To Mr Martin Williams. You may not have heard the distressing news that Father Lucas has been murdered.'"

'Oh, God,' Martin interrupted. 'I didn't know that either. That's both of them.'

'Do you want me to go on?' the young priest asked.

'Yes, please,' Martin told him. Mr Capelli was frowning at him and whispering, 'What's wrong? What's happened?'

The young priest read,' "He was found in the basement of the Hollywood Divine. The police think he was attacked by an addict. Somebody on angel dust perhaps. Father Lucas had the relics with him, but they are now missing. Whether you believe in the prophesies or not, it will do no harm to take all possible precautions. Remember the prediction of the innocents, the hundred and forty-four thousand lambs of God. Try to believe! Call me whenyouget back. Meanwhile make absolutely sure that no woman goes near the mirror, because Boofuls will have need of his witch-familiar, Miss Redd, and the only way he will be able to retrieve her from the mirror will be by —"'

The young priest paused. Martin urged him, 'Go on, why have you stopped?'

'Well, are you really sure you want to —? I mean, it's kind of odd, isn't it, to say the least? Father Quinlan was always known as something of an eccentric.'

'Please,' Martin insisted, 'will you just finish reading the letter?'

'All right, sir, if that's what you want. Where was I? Oh, yes - "the only way he will be able to retrieve her will be by trading one life for another — the way he did with the cat — and with your young friend Emilia. The witch-familiar will protect him and succor him until the day when he can revive his satanic parent. Witch-familiars usually have ancient and ribald names like Blow-Kate and Able-and-Stout and Pickle-nearest-the-wind.'" The young priest coughed in embarrassment.

'Please,' Martin begged him. 'This may sound like nonsense to you but it makes a whole lot of sense to me.'

'Well, there's only one more paragraph,' the young priest told him. 'Father Quinlan says, "Remember Alice, read it carefully; and remember, too, that only the child can destroy the child, and only the child can destroy the parent".''

Martin asked, 'Is that all?'

'That's all,' the young priest told him. He sounded more officious now that he had done his duty to Father Quinlan.

'I'll come by and collect the letter in the morning,' said Martin. 'Perhaps you can keep it safe for me.'

The young priest hesitated, and then he ventured, 'I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, Mr Williams, but you do realize that most of the time Father Quinlan was out on a limb, so to speak? I mean theologically. The church these days doesn't recognize the old biblical legends as strict fact. The Revelation in particular. I mean movies like The Omen have set us back decades. We can't have people believing in Satan, not these days. There are so many other problems for them to deal with. Unemployment, debt, divorce, drug addiction, street crime, isn't that enough to worry about without worrying about the fiery dragon of the Revelation?'

Martin was silent for a moment. Then he said, 'With all due respect, hasn't it ever occurred to you that all of those contemporary evils you're talking about - divorce and debt and mugging and everything — hasn't it ever occurred to you that these evils are nothing more than the modern face of the same old fiery dragon?'

The young priest said stiffly, 'Well, sir, I don't really think that this is an appropriate time to get into a religious discussion. You can collect the letter at the secretary's office. And — sir — I do not believe in Satan, nor ever will.'

'Your choice,' said Martin, and put down the phone.

Mr Capelli looked up from their chess game. 'What's happening?' he wanted to know.

Martin came around and stood beside him. 'We're on our own,' he told him. 'It's you and me and Ramone, because nobody else will believe us.'

Mr Capelli said, 'You've got something to tell me, don't you? Sit down, let's hear it. Tell me the worst. Come on, I'm an old man, I can take it. And aren't we friends? And by the way, I just took your bishop.'

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Principal photography started on Sweet Chariot in the second week of September. Fox took a full-page advertisement in Variety, trumpeting 'Pip Young, Geraldine Glosset, Lester Kroll, in Sweet Chariot, an angelic musical, words and music by Art Glazer and Michael Hanson'.