The Girl in the Glass (22 page)

"Please, refrain from speaking," I said, and Collins, instead of looking annoyed at my request, suddenly appeared chastened.

The voice of a young child could be heard in the room. At first it was only a murmur, but it soon grew into the clear sound of a girl's voice singing "Mary Had a Little Lamb." It wavered on a breeze that blew increasingly strong. Luckily no one seemed to notice that it came from the spot where Antony was standing in the shadows.

"The child has come," said Schell, his ghoulish demeanor taking on a look of triumph.

"My god," said Mrs. Barnes in a shrill voice. "Look, there, at the picture." Everyone turned his attention to the easel, where a drawing was slowly revealing itself one line at a time.

"This can't be…," said the oldest woman, sitting to the left of Schell. But it was, the figure appeared incrementally, as if an invisible entity was standing before the easel, sketching. The portrait in the process of becoming was obviously that of a man, but the distinguishing features had not yet been rendered.

"Who is it?" cried Barnes. "Charlotte, who?"

The flame at the center of the table exploded with a dull pop, and sparks streamed out in all directions. All eyes were diverted, but when the effect from that had passed, and the group's attention reverted back to the drawing, what we saw, nearly completely executed, was the misshapen head and snarling visage of the phantom Antony had done battle with.

"It's a demon," said Trumball.

"Harold, it's the figure from her drawings," said Mrs. Barnes. "The figure that haunted the grounds before she was abducted."

"Yes, but who or what is it?" asked Barnes, posing his question as much to the darkness around him as to his wife and the others. "Schell, ask her for a name."

"What more can you tell us about this horror?" said Schell.

My eyes went wide, and when the others saw my expression they also looked up, for behind Schell's chair, amid the billowing incense smoke, rose the ghost of Charlotte Barnes. Her hair was in curls as it had been when she had died, and her cheeks shone with a strange waxen palor. Mr. Gallard passed out sideways off his chair, and his wife hit the tabletop with a thud. Trumball made to lift Mrs. Gallard, but I whispered harshly to him to stay still.

The ghost of Charlotte Barnes cast down her icy stare, and her gaze swept across the assembled participants. Mrs. Barnes was breathing heavily, audibly, and clutching her chest.

"My killer moves among you," said the spirit, and the voice was high and tremulous. "Avenge my death." Mrs. Barnes grasped at her own throat and then sprawled back in her chair. "Helen," her husband called and reached one arm out toward her and one toward the image of Charlotte. The doctor, sitting next to me, yelled, "Mrs. Barnes!" rose to his feet, and began to make his way around the table. I slipped my foot back beneath my chair and caught his ankle at the last second as he went by. He sprawled headlong onto the floor. The last thing Charlotte did was toss something down that landed on the table with a definite material impact.

"Turn on the lights now," cried Barnes. Antony did as he was told, and the lights suddenly flashed on, temporarily blinding everyone. The room was filled with sobs, gasps, and hushed comments of the guests. When we looked back, the girl was gone, and Schell was bent forward, head down, passed out on the table.

IT'S ALL RUBBISH

B
y the time Doctor Greaves managed to pick himself up off the floor, Helen Barnes had revived, so when he continued on around to that side of the room and passed her by, I thought he was going to see if he could assist Schell. Nothing doing. Instead, he got down on his knees and looked under the table, obviously believing that the spirit of Charlotte Barnes had been merely an impostor and was now hiding, waiting for a chance to slip out unseen. Schell came to then, looking like he'd been through the mill. He was groggy and disoriented, and when he noticed Greaves on the floor at his feet, he said, "I beg your pardon, sir."

Greaves stood up. "An effective stage trick, Mr…. What was your name again?" he asked. Schell answered.

"Yes, very amusing, but complete rubbish," said Greaves. "Have you no decency? To perform this kind of whim-wham on these poor grieving people—shameful."

"Adam, please, let Mr. Schell catch his breath. He's been through a harrowing experience," said Barnes, coming more fully to life than he had all evening.

"Harold," said Greaves, "it's all rubbish."

Mrs. Barnes pulled herself up, using the table for support, and wobbled over to where Schell was sitting.

"Doctor, if you can't respect this great man's ability, at least don't hound him after he's rendered us such a service." She put her hand on Schell's shoulder and said, "Thank you." Schell reached up and patted her hand. "I know how difficult this must be for you," he said.

"Such a service…," said Greaves under his breath and stepped away. Antony had applied the smelling salts to the Gallards, who were spluttering their respective ways back to consciousness. Trumball stood, leaned over the table, and lifted a small object. "Look," he said, "here's what the girl threw." He held it up for everyone to see. It was a blue drawing pencil. This prompted the others to turn their attention back to the picture on the easel, material proof that the spirit of the girl had been present. Mrs. Charles, attended by Mr. Collins and a few of the others, moved across the room to where the portrait of the strange figure stood. They blew out the candles in front of it and unfastened it from the easel. Gathered round, they held it up close to their faces in order to study it carefully. Barnes had gone to the small bar in the corner of the room and fixed Schell a drink. He was making his way back to the table when a high-pitched scream came from Mrs. Charles. The suddenness of the cry startled Barnes and caused him to drop the glass. He let loose a string of curses I would never have suspected him capable of uttering.

"Good lord, Margaret," he yelled, "What ever was that for?" Mrs. Charles turned and, holding the portrait that had been on the easel, displayed it to Barnes and the rest of us. "The drawing," she said. "It's disappeared."

"Right before our eyes," said Collins.

The large piece of paper that had held the likeness of the phantom was now totally blank.

"It couldn't last," said Schell, standing. "Charlotte did her best, but the spirit world reclaimed her efforts." At this, the doctor shook his head and left the room. The rest were wrapped in a state of silent awe. Antony and I allowed a minute or two of respectful inaction to pass, and then we set to gathering together our props and putting them in the trunk. While the two of us worked quickly, Schell explained to Harold and Helen Barnes that he would phone them the next day to discuss more fully what had transpired. It was clear that they were eager to rehash the events of the evening right on the spot, but Schell cautioned that it was important to bring focused reflection to bear on the actions and words of the dead.

"Perhaps there's a clue we will miss if we rush to judgment," he said. They reluctantly agreed.

Antony and I had the trunk packed and were ready to go in ten minutes. Schell made the rounds of the guests and shook their hands. Each and every one of them, even the Gallards, had only praise for his abilities and thanked him for the experience. The old crone, who'd sat next to Schell during the séance, even thanked
me
, nodding slightly and calling me Mr. Fondue.

Then we fell into our parade formation with Schell leading the way and Antony in the rear, lugging the trunk. We made our slow, ceremonious exit from the dining room to the hallway and toward the front door. On the way to the exit, we encountered the doctor, standing off to the side of the hall, smoking a cigar.

"Good evening, Dr. Greaves," said Schell and extended his hand.

"Keep walking," said Greaves. "I've nothing to say to you." Schell withdrew his arm and we continued.

Two miles down the road from the Barnes mansion, Antony turned into the parking lot of a grocery and drove around behind the building, where he stopped. We all got out of the car and went quickly to the back compartment of the Cord and retrieved the prop trunk. Laying it carefully on the ground, Antony unlatched the clasps and opened it. Schell reached in and took out the easel, the folding table, the candles, etc., handing each item to me in turn.

Once the trunk was empty, Schell took out his knife. Releasing the blade, he ran its tip along the bottom side of the trunk. A moment later what had seemed to be the bottom opened outward like the cover of a book to reveal a hidden compartment filled with the contorted body of Vonda, the Rubber Lady. She looked like a woman who had fallen into a car compactor.

Antony reached into the trunk and lifted her twisted form up into his arms, holding her as one would hold a child. Very slowly at first, and then with increasing speed, she began to open outward like a folded paper figure placed in a bowl of water. While this remarkable transformation took place, Schell and I replaced the false bottom of the trunk and began refilling it with our séance implements. Like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, Vonda turned into a slight but perfectly normal-size woman in Antony's arms. As soon as the metamorphosis was complete, she said, "Okay, Henry, you can put me down."

As her feet touched the ground, she reached up and whipped off the curly wig she'd worn to effect the guise of Charlotte Barnes. I'd only met her once before, and briefly at that, at Morty's funeral. Now I could tell, even through the makeup job Schell had done on her to get her to look like a little girl, that she was a good-looking woman. Her own blonde hair was gathered in a tight bun on her head. She was thin but had a fine figure, and her face was youthful for someone who I knew to be only a few years younger than the big man. Despite what seemed to be a lazy left eye, Antony had done very well for himself.

"Are you feeling good?" asked Antony, gently touching her back.

"A little dizzy," she said. "It'll pass."

"You were in that trunk for a long time," I said, "I don't know how you did it."

"It wasn't the trunk, kid," she said, "that's a piece of cake. It was that fucking stuff you guys had burning on the back of that chair. It nearly gassed me. What is that shit? It smelled like dirty feet." Antony must have been satisfied that she was back to normal, because he smiled broadly and bent over to give her a hug.

"Great work," said Schell. "Come on, we've got to beat it." The trunk got loaded back into the Cord, and Schell gave Vonda the front seat so she could ride next to Antony. We pulled back out onto the road and made for home.

"Diego," Schell said, "did you remember to take the drawing? I doubt any of them would figure it out, but in the event someone analyzed it, we'd be sunk."

"Yeah," said Antony, "like that doctor. I wasn't feeling the warmth from him."

"That's what happens when you're educated in the sciences," said Schell. "You lose that charming quality of naive acceptance."

"All you ever talk to me about is getting a college degree," I said. Schell laughed. "I'm talking about our marks, Diego. It's okay for us."

"Wait a second, there," said Antony. "I think Barnes went to Havard."

"That doesn't count," said Schell. "Absolute wealth befuddles absolutely."

"I did take the picture," I said and reached up to retrieve the folded piece of drawing paper from beneath my turban.

"How about the scream that old broad let out when the drawing disappeared?" said Antony.

"I heard that in the trunk," said Vonda. "It almost busted my glass eye."

"I love that effect," said Schell.

"I know you guys were saying the drawing appears and disappears, but how do you do it?" she asked.

"The boss never gives away his secrets," Antony said to her.

"It's all right, Antony," said Schell. "Since Vonda did such a marvelous job, and she has close personal connections to the operation, I'll reveal this one, but you must promise not to tell anyone."

"Yeah, yeah," said Vonda and turned slightly to look into the backseat. I was glad she asked, because although it had actually been Isabel who'd originally drawn the portrait of the phantom with a solution that Schell had concocted, I had no idea what that special ink had been made from.

"Cobalt oxide dissolved in nitric acid," said Schell. "You could also use hydrochloric acid instead of the nitric. You render the writing or drawing with this solution on a piece of white paper and it's completely undetectable. When it comes in close proximity to heat, like the candle flames we placed directly in front of it, the drawing appears in blue lines. Breathe on it, as Mrs. Charles and Collins and the others were doing when inspecting it, and it disappears again. I got that one from Morty."

"Jeez," said Vonda and shook her head.

"And I apologize for the ill effect of the incense, but without it I was afraid it wouldn't have been dark enough for you to get in and out of the trunk undetected," said Schell.

"Forget it," said Vonda. She turned to Antony and lightly punched him in the arm. "Baby, give me a cigarette," she said.

HERE'S A CLUE

L
iving with Schell often made me forget that the country was suffering the stupidity of Prohibition, for he had an endless supply of alcohol and not the bathtub swill that Grace served at the Paradise. Once every few months, he and Antony would drive over to the docks in Hoboken, New Jersey, and visit a particular longshoreman named Gallagher. It never failed that they would return with a stash of European champagne, wine, and liquor. To celebrate our successful bamboozlement of the Barneses and their guests, Schell had pulled, from some secret compartment in his room, two bottles of French cognac. We all crowded into the Bugatorium, and the party took wing.

That night my glass was refilled with each round, and I was not held to my usual one-drink limit. My role had somehow changed. I no longer felt like an apprentice but as a full partner in the séance operation, on equal footing with Schell and Antony. I could only think this was due to the presence of Isabel, looking beautiful in Morgan's paisley wrap. As simpleminded as it sounds, I had my arm around a woman and a drink in my hand, and I mistakenly thought as I'm sure many have, What, if not this, is evidence of being a man in the great United States?