main | table of contents The Reflecting Eye Copyright © 2003, S. Y. Affolee 32 Fate and Choices “I don’t want you to stay in the city alone.” Verity glanced at his profile as he drove. They were heading on a familiar route toward her house. “You want me to stay with you.” “It’s not just an overnight thing.” “Should I pack an entire trunk?” Earlier, the authorities had arrived on Dorsum, cranky and annoyed that they had to be called away to do work during the holidays. The paramedics had arrived on the scene and had given a diagnosis that they had already figured out on their own. They had loaded up the body bag into their ambulance and had driven off toward the hospital to have the forensics department to have a closer look. The police had cordoned off the area in warning tape and had taken pictures. Gammell and Verity had been detained for about an hour at the scene being questioned about their observations and whereabouts. And then they were let go. The police dusted the place for prints and put bits of possible evidence in plastic bags, but there was no hope that they would even begin working on the case until after the new year. And by that time, it might be too late. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone, at least not until after the holidays. Something is clearly wrong and I don’t like it,” said Gammell. They turned onto Finsen and arrived at her residence. They got out of the car and as they neared her apartment, Verity noticed the middle-aged woman with the fur coat leaning on her neighbor’s door. The woman watched the both of them with narrowed eyes. In one hand, she held a smoking cigarette. She placed it to her mouth to take a long drag and when they reached the entrance, she blew out a cloud of stinging smoke. Verity fought not to cough. “Nice day isn’t it?” said the neighbor. Her voice was deep and raspy. Her mouth was painted bright red and there were prominent lines across her forehead and around her eyes and mouth. The sky was already quite dark and the only light was from the thin sliver of the moon which occasionally peeked out whenever there was a break in the cloud cover. “It’s not too warm,” Verity replied. Didn’t her uncle say something about the neighbors not caring and not bothering with anyone else in the neighborhood? “You seem really busy for the holidays.” “It’s work.” “Too bad they’re not giving you the days off.” The woman took another drag on her cigarette. “The holiday lets you start off the new year afresh. Hope the pay’s good.” “It’s good enough.” She put her key in the lock and turned. “I thought you lived alone.” Verity pushed open the door. “Not any more.” Gammell closed the door behind him as she went inside and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. “I didn’t know your neighbors were so chatty.” “I didn’t know either.” She pulled out her duffle bag from underneath her bed and started to empty her wardrobe into it. “My uncle told me that the people around here weren’t supposed to care.” She zipped up the bag and tossed it over her shoulder. “I think I preferred it that way.” They went back downstairs to the dining room where Verity took the mirror and the leather pouch. Before putting it inside the bag, she showed Gammell the frame with the looking glass. “What do you think?” Carefully, he took the mirror in his hands with the reflecting surface facing downward. Slowly he turned it over. He glanced at it for a moment before handing it back to her. “Put it in the bag.” She slipped it into the leather pouch and then stuffed it into her duffle bag. “What’s wrong?” He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and walked toward the front door. “Everything’s wrong.” “What did it show you?” “That’s the problem, it didn’t show me anything.” “But…” She reached back to take the mirror out and looked into it herself. She blinked and felt her head swim. All she saw in the reflection was the room itself. She shoved the mirror back into her bag and tried to tell herself that she was too tired and stressed and that her mind was playing tricks on her. Outside, the woman with the fur coat had disappeared, but the scent of her cigarette still lingered in the cold air. * * * She had offered to set the table when he said he was going to make dinner. Putting the dishes and cups and silverware onto the table had not taken long and when she found herself with the extra time, she stood against the counter to watch him. He had put on a light brown apron that looked like it was made of burlap. He quickly peeled carrots and potatoes and cut up other vegetables as well as some parsley. He dumped all of these into a large boiling pot of water and put in some seasoning. He stirred the concoction with a wooden ladle. She liked this small cozy scene, but how long would this kind of thing last? Was this the beginning of something she had long ago discarded as impossible, or was this something transient like a dream? Gammell had rolled his sleeves past his elbows. She admired his forearms, the sprinkling of hair, the play of muscle underneath the skin. Perhaps she shouldn’t think too hard. Perhaps at this moment, she shouldn’t worry too much about what was happening out there. She blinked and then in her mind’s eye, saw the sad limp body of the pawn shop dealer sprawled on the messy floor of the back room. A shudder worked its way down her neck to the bottom of her spine. What had happened? What was happening? What had Pelorus done or found out that warranted his sudden murder? And what of Aeneus who claimed that he could take care of himself when he talked too much of his conspiracies? What about herself? And what about Gammell? Her mind suddenly stopped working. “That mirror,” said Gammell as he sprinkled some pepper into the stew. “I don’t like it.” “Do you want me to get rid of it?” “No.” He turned to look at her. “It’s somehow related to all of this. You know that since what happened today we don’t have to work on finding what Pelorus wanted.” He turned back to the food on the stove. “I’ve known him for what, ten years? He was old, but he didn’t deserve to go that way.” “No one deserves to go that way.” She walked over to the fridge and opened it. “Wine?” “Go ahead.” She took out a bottle and found a corkscrew to get it open. She poured the dark red liquid into two glasses. Gammell took one and swallowed deeply. She sipped hers. “So we try finding that titanium mirror anyway?” “It’s not about finding anything any more. It’s about getting answers. And it’s also about finally figuring out what this other, unnamed thing is, what I am, what I’m supposed to do.” “You want to find yourself.” “It’s not so simple.” He held up the ladle with a hand underneath to catch anything that dripped. “Taste.” Verity leaned over to lick the sauce from the spoon. “Hmm. It’s good.” “Have you ever had the feeling that you were supposed to do something, that you were bred to do something?” he asked. “It’s as if every little sign is pointing in one direction to a place I don’t know anything about, but nonetheless, I’m swept headlong into it without any control.” “I’ve always had that feeling to some extent. But I wander from place to place, not sure where I should stay,” she replied. “And then something comes along to tell me in no uncertain terms that it is not for me and I’m forced to leave whether I like it or not.” He took the pot over to the table and began ladling the stew into the bowls. “It’s as if fate is playing a harsh hand.” “It may seem that way. In fact, I do sometimes think that is the case, but when all is said and done, I don’t believe in fate. We make our own choices—we just have to make sure we make the right ones.” He put the ladle back into the pot and grinned ruefully. “Let’s hope that you’re right.”