Mirror Image (27 page)

He had initially thought he was going to be very much out of place, but he was surprised by the number of older men cruising the nightclub, lounging at the bar, obviously watching the women. He was even more surprised at the number of young women who were dancing, drinking, and flirting with them.

He shouldered his way through the crowd, making for the bar, already regretting coming in. He reckoned his chances of finding Manny Frazer here were slim indeed.

He'd spent the day sitting in a stolen blue Toyota Corolla, watching the Frazer house through binoculars. He had seen Jonathan Frazer drive up in the Volvo and hurry into the house at around one, but there had been no activity since then, and Frazer was still in the house … or was he in the guesthouse?

He needed to get to Frazer, but with the police surveillance outside the house he couldn't simply walk up to the front door, and he was too close to the mirror to even think about using astral projection. Even this far from the glass, he could
feel
the coldly pulsating core of the whirlpool battering against his unconscious.

He was going to have to get into the house. He knew that the mirror was already exerting its influence over Frazer. He had seen it in his eyes, had felt it, and he knew he couldn't count on Frazer to cover the glass with a black cloth. But he had two cans of aerosol black lacquer paint in his pockets and if at all possible he was going to spray the surface of the glass. He wasn't sure how effective that would be, but it should cut down the mirror's ability to show the images it used to entice its victims.

And Jonathan Frazer was an obvious target.

Edmund Talbott was becoming concerned for Frazer's mental health. He had encountered disturbing signs on the astral that someone was feeding the mirror with blood, and yet Talbott hadn't heard of any deaths, hadn't
felt
any souls entering the Otherworld. So that meant the feeding was deliberate. Was the mirror more powerful than he'd thought: had it taken Frazer several steps further than he imagined? If he discovered that Frazer was feeding the mirror with blood then Talbott would kill him with no more compunction than he would a dangerous insect.

Day turned to evening and fell into night and, around ten, just when he was contemplating giving up, a yellow cab arrived. Talbott saw a brief flurry of activity in the unmarked police car as the cab drove up the driveway to the Frazer house. The door opened almost immediately and light shafted out into the mild night air. Manny Frazer appeared, wearing a long loose coat, and climbed into the cab. Talbott immediately started up the Corolla and drove out onto the main road, timing it so that the cab ended up directly behind him. The light turned red and he used the opportunity to glance around—he had removed the rearview and side mirrors—and saw Manny pulling off her coat. He pulled in to the curbside, allowing the cab to move past him, and then pulled out behind it. He had followed it through the busy evening streets as it cut across Barham Boulevard, the Hollywood Freeway, Highland Avenue and then down onto Sunset Boulevard, eventually pulling outside a nightclub close to Crescent Heights. Talbott saw the brake lights flare and immediately turned right into a side street. The cab stopped outside what looked like a minimalist stone storefront with a single wooden door and Manny Frazer stepped out—and he immediately knew why she'd been wearing a coat when she left the house. She was wearing a tiny black dress. It barely covered her buttocks, a scooped neckline exposed most of her breasts, and when she turned her back, Talbott saw that most of her back was bare.

He parked the car, climbed out and carefully locked it. The narrow street was buzzing, valets busily parking customers' cars in a parking lot that catered to the comedy place next door and the nightclub. Talbott could feel the throbbing in the air as he approached and he cringed at the thought of entering the noisy, hot interior, which was undoubtedly crammed with people. There were two large security people at the door, ridiculous in their black suits; they gave Talbott the once over, nodded, and for a moment, he thought they were going to stop him, but they apparently thought better of it.

The noise inside the room was a physical thing. He imagined he could feel the very air tremble with sound. His head begin to throb immediately and he was conscious of his heartbeat increasing in time to the pulsing of the music. How anyone could come to a place like this for pleasure was beyond him.

It took him ten minutes before he finally got the barman's attention over the noise, and there was surprisingly little change from his ten bucks for his bottle of Perrier. He turned his back to the bar, squeezing through the sweaty bodies before finding a small breathable space, looking for Manny.

The stench in the place was almost overpowering, a combination of a hundred perfumes, both male and female, sweat, alcohol, the sweeter tang of hash and the vaguest hint of rot and damp. How could this be pleasurable, he wondered again.

He sipped the water, his hard cold eyes watching the crowd. The problem was that Manny's outfit was similar enough to scores of the young women present, and he knew that unless she actually passed right by him … there! He immediately pushed his way through the throng, following the young girl, using his height to watch her move, relaxed, through the crowd. The pulsating lights were infuriating, making him clumsy, and if there was skill to moving through a crowded room, then he obviously didn't possess it.

Manny was lounging up against a wall when he finally caught up with her. Her right leg was raised high enough to display that she was wearing no underwear, her head tilted back against the wall, a hand-rolled cigarette drooping between her lips. The man standing directly in front of her, his hand high on her thigh, was old enough to be her father—older probably.

Talbott shouldered his way into the couple and plucked the man's hand off the girl's thigh.

“Hey, what the fuck…”

Talbott brought his face close to the man's, smelling his aftershave and sweat. “She's my daughter,” he hissed.

“She's over the age of consent!” he blustered.

Talbott's hard fingers grabbed a fistful of the flesh that bulged over the older man's waistband and squeezed. The smile on his face was terrifying. “Do you enjoy pain?” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the throbbing of the music. “Now fuck off!” He gave a final twist to the flabby stomach flesh for emphasis, and the man turned pale in agony before backing away from the terrifying figure.

When Edmund Talbott turned back to the girl she was gone!

 

60

I
T WAS
turning out to be a shitty night.

It hadn't started out right and it was going to end in tears, she knew that.

Manny had been feeling
off
all day, a little distracted, a little dizzy, like she'd done some grass or speed, but she hadn't done drugs since she'd come back from Paris—well not much really, a few tokes at Amanda's party a couple of weeks ago, but nothing serious.

Maybe it was just all the madness in the air over the past couple of weeks. People she'd known had died for Christ's sake! Surely that meant that she was entitled to feel a little crazy?

She'd planned to stay in, but late in the evening she'd opted for a long leisurely bath rather than a shower, and soaked for the best part of an hour and that had helped to wake her up. She'd climbed out of the bath and dried herself off in front of the full length mirror, curious at the peculiar changes taking place in her body. The hair on her head, for example, was really growing quickly and her pubic hair, which she'd recently had waxed, was now growing in as well. Her breasts, which were full, actually looked and felt heavier, and she was obviously putting on weight, too, because her stomach looked slightly rounded, though when she checked it on the scale, she discovered she'd lost a pound. Must be something to do with her period, she decided again; maybe it was coming early this month. Wasn't stress supposed to bring it on—or did that delay it?

She needed a night out, she decided. On her own: just go out, go wild, drink a few cocktails, maybe toke a few joints, find a nice guy to dance with …

And it was a mistake.

She'd realized that about five minutes after entering the club. In the time she'd been away in Paris, the character of the place had changed. It used to be the “in” place to be seen, limousines lined up outside, celebrities would come and hang out, the paparazzi would have a field day photographing the rich and famous as they entered, blocking the entrance and then hanging around waiting for them to leave in a disheveled state, drunk and slightly high. Now the club had turned into a cattle market, with a lot of older guys cruising for girls who couldn't be older than some of their daughters. The music was a lot louder, too, and the colored strobes that she used to find so exciting now only confused and disorientated her. All the old faces were gone—except Miriam, who'd been the coat check girl when she'd last been there and who remembered her. As Manny handed over her coat, Miriam slid her a joint with her ticket, “Help ease the pain,” she grinned, nodding to the dance floor.

She'd been relaxing against the wall when this creep had come up to her: short, slightly pudgy, with a shirt open down to his naval. He slid his hand up her leg, saying nothing, concentrating on looking meaningfully into her eyes—which translated as a leer—and she was contemplating kneeing him in the balls, when security had come up and shoved the guy away. She'd wanted none of this, and didn't want to be leaned on by the security guy. God alone knows what he thought with her dressed in this get up. She was sorry she'd worn it now, especially here, where some of the girls leaning against the walls were eyeing the men with a professional interest. She wouldn't be at all surprised if some of the security guys were in on the action, and she certainly didn't want them to think she was a freelancer. In Paris anyway—and Los Angeles too, she assumed—girls working without a pimp tended to end up hurt.

So, while security was having his few words with the creep, she slid away from the wall, ducked into the cloakroom and grabbed her coat from Miriam, promising she'd call her tomorrow, and was out of the place before either man even noticed she'd gone.

The fresh night air hit her with an almost physical blow and she stood swaying on the street for a moment, desperately resisting the temptation to vomit. She'd only had one drink, but whatever had been in that joint had been good shit.

Cab or walk?

Common sense said cab, so she walked, padding barefoot down the street, dangling her heels in her hands.

It was a little after eleven, a cool night in November, and the city seemed almost relaxed, all the sounds were muted, and the pulsing of the club faded rapidly as she walked away from it.

She walked east on Sunset, and ignored the lewd comments from a couple of passing drivers. She wanted to walk a little further to clear her head before making a decision, but there was no way she could go home like this. Her dad would still be up and she didn't want him to see her dressed like this, or in this state. She must have walked for almost a mile when she decided to rest on the stone steps leading to a building. A fountain spat water, white noise drowning out the traffic. Manny sat peering into the rectangular water fountain, drawn by the mixed colors of deep blue and turquoise mosaic tiles. She had been staring into the flat reflective surface of the water for a few seconds before she realized what she was seeing.

There was a face beneath the water. Looking up at her. Manny rubbed her eyes, smudging her brown-black mascara and eyeliner across her cheeks.

An oval face, with prominent rounded cheekbones, full lips, and dark up-tilted eyes.

And it was watching her. The mouth opening and closing, calling to her.

More and more of the body came into view—the shoulders, the chest, arms, hands, fingers, raising upwards, reaching for her, clutching at her, coming closer to the surface, rising up out of the blue waters—and when the body broke the surface Manny knew it was going to pull her in.

And she couldn't move, couldn't scream. Could only watch in horrified fascination as the woman came ever closer.

The mirror image was familiar, desperately familiar, and the portion of her mind that remained coolly practical was trying to work out where she'd seen the face before, but somewhere at the back of her head, she wanted to believe that this was nothing more than the shit she'd been smoking.

But in her heart and soul, she knew that this was something more than a hallucination, this was too real, the image was too powerful.

She was looking down into the water, locked onto the shimmering reflections … when cool, long fingered hands burst from the surface, locked around her shoulders and dragged her down.

*   *   *

“Y
OU WERE SWAYING
to and fro when I saw you. I knew you were going to fall into the water. You could have drowned.”

Manny Frazer looked up into Edmund Talbott's scarred face and then fainted gracefully into his arms.

 

61

J
ONATHAN FRAZER
had given blood on dozens of occasions, and it was a simple straightforward task, with absolutely no pain, merely resulting in a mild discomfort in the crook of his arm. So extracting a pint of his own blood should have been no problem—or so he thought.

It had taken him the best part of two hours to get close to three-quarters of a pint. His left arm was one enormous bruise and the ragged puncture in his vein now almost spitefully refused to close. The bathroom sink and mirror were speckled with blood and the stink of his own sweat was heavy on the pine-scented air.

Jonathan looked at the glass beaker full of the viscous liquid, and wondered if it was enough. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, surprised at the deep shadows beneath his eyes, the lines on his face. He looked old, he decided, old and tired.