False mirrors, p.27
False Mirrors, page 27
Recalling his partner's explanation about the ritual the killer had been conducting, Jim glanced up toward the ceiling, looking for an opening through which moonlight could enter the chamber. Directly above the coffin he found the faint lines which defined the shape of a small trap door.
Jaw spasming in anger, the detective moved to the small table which had been placed near one end of the coffin and studied the items laying on its surface. There was an ornate dagger which matched the description of the murder weapon precisely. There were also two bunches of fresh herbs. Jim crushed a leaf of each between his fingers, releasing their pungent aroma. The thyme was a familiar scent -- he recognized it's distinct fragrance from one of Sandburg's early sensory tests. He couldn't identify the second herb, but he knew it was the same one he had smelled on the victim's bodies. There was also a tall glass decanter filled with a gold colored liquid. A cautious sniff revealed a hint of sesame.
He picked up the small, leather bound book which lay beside the dagger and quickly thumbed through it. As if the rest of the evidence weren't damning enough, the handwritten journal chronicled every gruesome detail of Klerk's killing spree. Sickened beyond belief, Jim tucked the book into his jacket pocket.
A discordant blast of music suddenly hammered against his eardrums and his senses abruptly flared out of control. Wincing under the unexpected sensory assault, he shook his head, trying to clear it. He looked up, blinking furiously and found himself staring at his own reflection in one of the mirrors. His breath caught in his throat. He blinked again and suddenly there was another face in the mirror. A gnarled hand. A flicker of something bright. Transfixed, he stood unmoving as the hand emerged from the silvery surface and reached toward him...
"Knowledge is power... It illuminates the dark... lets you see what's really there."
The memory of his Guide's words freed him from his nightmare-induced stasis. With a gasp the Sentinel wrenched his senses back under control and he saw what was really there. Not someone in front of him, reaching out of the mirror, but someone behind him. Jim started to turn, reaching for his gun at t he same time. Pain exploded at the base of his skull and he toppled forward onto the coffin. The box and its grisly contents slid to the floor. The sounds of breaking glass and a scream of pure rage were the last things Ellison heard before consciousness fled.
Assuming Jim had entered the fun house through the side entrance, Blair opted for the front. He charged up the narrow metal steps and slid to an abrupt stop at the mouth of the tunnel. The power to the attraction appeared to be shut down -- the string of lights around the outside of the entrance were off and the interior of the passageway was dark. Blair wasn't taking any chances, though. If the Sentinel's senses were on-line, Jim would know the moment he stepped inside, but he didn't want to alert Klerk to his presence.
Stepping carefully over the pressure strip he had tripped on his first visit, Blair flicked the switch on the flashlight and aimed the beam at the floor. The distorted mirrored surface refracted the light in a hundred different directions, weakening its brilliance. He pointed the flashlight toward the end of the tunnel. The light barely penetrated the darkness. He swallowed hard, reminded himself why he was there and began his cautious journey inward.
His strategy, such as it was, was simple: find his partner and keep Klerk from getting away -- preferably in that order.
After a quick glance, he ignored the mirrors positioned along each side of the walkway. He cast only a blurred, insubstantial reflection in the tall panels -- as if he weren't really there. He told himself it was merely the lack of light -- a trick of the oddly contoured surfaces -- but the feeling of deja vu was disturbing.
This is not a dream or a vision, he reminded himself as he edged forward. This is real.
When he reached the point where the hallway bent to the right, he found the second activation strip. He paused, studying the floor beyond it. In a narrow section of the center, the mirrored tiles had been replaced by a black, rubbery surface. It looked like a small scale version of the moving walkways at the airport. Unlike those constantly flowing people-movers, this one was inactive. He let the flashlight beam play along its length. It sloped upward at a fairly sharp angle for about fifteen feet. Something shiny stood at the end. Blair frowned and placed his foot on the grooved surface, breathing out a sigh of relief when it remained motionless. He scurried up the incline. At the top, two side-by-side mirrors blocked his path.
He refrained from touching them, sweeping the panes with the beam of the flashlight instead. The mirrors seemed to float in the darkness. Just like the mirrors from his dream. He ruthlessly squelched the memory and examined each one carefully.
No hinges, so they don't swing inward... maybe they're supposed to slide apart like elevator doors...
Blair stuffed the flashlight into the back waistband of his jeans. In the absence of the torch's feeble light the darkness seemed to take on a greater malevolence, prompting him to work quickly. Sliding his fingers into the crevice dividing the mirrors, he tried to pry them apart. There was resistance, then suddenly they slid free on their invisible tracks. He froze, staring into the darkness in front of him, waiting breathlessly to see if he had triggered anything. There was nothing but black void and absolute stillness.
His dream again.
Damn.
He fumbled for the flashlight and directed the beam forward. Another hallway of mirrors lay ahead of him. Tightlipped with resolve, Blair stepped over the threshold.
The passageway erupted in a explosion of light and sound which nearly drove Blair to his knees. The flashlight dropped, forgotten, from his grasp. He gasped in pain and screwed his eyes shut as the mirror-enhanced brilliance assaulted his dilated pupils. He clapped his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the blaring organ music -- aptly sounding like something out of a 1950s horror film -- which reverberated through the hallway.
The sense of urgency he'd felt during his dream filled him and he broke into a staggering run, finally understanding the significance of his visions. A section of floor rolled and undulated beneath his feet. He skittered across it. Two short flights of stairs jolted into motion, each step zig-zagging crazily left and then right. He leapfrogged from one platform to the next. In his mad dash, he tripped other unseen triggers. Fanciful rooms filled with strobing lights, revolving barrels and bizarrely contoured mirrors sprang to life along the maze. He ignored them, continually bearing right, following the spiraling passageway.
He had to find the center -- had to find his partner before the Sentinel became the killer's next victim.
He shouted Jim's name as he ran, no longer concerned about alerting Klerk to his presence. Suddenly there was a loud crash to his right, followed by a chilling scream of rage. Blair pulled to a stop, facing a flat section of mirrors. Inspired by the memories of what had happened in his dreams, he placed both hands on the silvery surface and shoved. He fell forward as the mirrored panel pivoted on an unseen hinge and swung inward, revealing a vision from hell.
Dozens of overturned candles guttered and clogged the air of the small mirrored chamber with their foul smoke. Tongues of flame licked greedily at the floor and crawled up the strips of dry wood between the glittering tiles mounted on the walls. Blair swiped at his tearing eyes and froze, mesmerized by a deadly tableau.
Jim lay crumpled amidst the splintered wreckage of some kind of glass case. Beneath his left arm was a grinning human skull. Face contorted with rage and grief, Arnie Klerk loomed over his motionless partner.
"YOU RUINED IT! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!" the old man shrieked.
The sight of the glittering dagger in Klerk's hands galvanized Blair to action. With an anguished cry, he launched himself at the old man. The force of his impact knocked Klerk away from Jim, but dropped Blair to his knees. Dazed, the observer's gaze blearily swept the room for some kind of weapon. A heavy wrench lay only a few feet away, but he knew that retrieving it would mean leaving Jim open to attack. In a desperate attempt to keep the killer away from his partner, Blair shoved himself to his feet again and grabbed the old man's arm. With surprising strength, Klerk wrenched free and swiped at the younger man with the knife. Blair turned, trying to avoid the thrust. The blade sliced effortlessly through Blair's flannel shirt and skittered across his ribs, carving a burning gash across his right side before sinking deeper into the tender flesh of his abdomen.
A choked scream escaped Blair's lips. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, draped across Jim's legs. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pressed his right arm against the wound and looked up, trying to locate his assailant. He didn't have to look far. Klerk stood over him, the knife raised high above his head. Blair started to raise a hand in supplication, but the madness he saw in the old man's eyes told him it was no use.
A groan of black despair issued from his smoke-choked throat. The truth had been hidden within his dreams -- the spirals, the mirrors. If only he'd seen it, understood it in time. He'd been blind to the import of his visions and it was going to cost him not only his life, but the life of his Sentinel as well.
Blair whispered a prayer for forgiveness and sucked in a last painful breath as the blade began to descend.
A dark shape suddenly flowed out of the smoke and flames wreathing the room. Klerk staggered backward as an arm wrapped around his throat and suddenly his head snapped sideways with a sickening crunch. The dagger clattered to the floor and the old man's lifeless body followed a second later. Wide eyed with shock, Blair looked up to meet Calvin Chambers' black, penetrating gaze. He expected to find the same madness in the ex-Seal's eyes which had filled Klerk's, but to his surprise what he saw was determination tinged with regret.
Chambers dropped to one knee in front of Blair and reached forward to check the knife wound. "How bad is it?"
Feeling his partner starting to stir beneath him, Blair swatted the carnie's hand away. "I just need a second... to catch my breath." He fought off a wave of dizziness as he shifted his weight off of Jim's legs.
"We may not have that much time." Chambers hooked an arm around Blair and hauled him to his feet. Before the startled Guide could protest, the carnie half-carried, half-pushed him out of the chamber and propped him against the mirrored wall of the outer corridor. "Stay put," he ordered.
"I'm... all right... Just get Jim... out of there," Blair gasped.
Chambers' shot him a disbelieving glare, but to Blair's relief, the ex-Seal turned and disappeared into the flaming chamber of horrors
The hallway was rapidly filling with smoke. Blair ducked his chin and pulled the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth, but the acrid fumes seeped through the make-shift filter, triggering a coughing fit. Searing pain ripped through him and he doubled over. He crumpled against the wall and slid to a gasping heap on the cold floor.
"Come on, Army. Time to move your sorry ass."
Ellison winced away from the caustic voice and the strong fingers probing the aching lump on the back of his head. He opened his eyes to find a shadowy figure hovering over him. Awareness returned in a rush of painful sensations and confusing images -- all of which screamed 'danger'. Instinct took over and Jim came up swinging.
"Whoa! Back off! I'm here to help!"
Stunned by the outcry, the Sentinel wrenched at his sensory controls, forcing the blurred shape of his adversary into focus.
"Chambers," he rasped, rocking back on his heels in surprise.
The ex-Seal rubbed his jaw and glared at the stunned detective. "If you're done playin' Rambo, I suggest scrub this mission. This place is a tinderbox. It's gonna go up fast."
Chambers' words broke the Sentinel out of his groggy daze. Sharp eyes swept the room, assessing the situation and cataloging the damage. He dialed down taste and smell and cranked up his hearing, filtering past the crackling sound of the fire. There was no heartbeat emanating from Klerk's motionless form, but there was a familiar throbbing pulse close by.
Blair.
Jim's blood ran cold. His head snapped around and he lunged for the doorway. The flashing lights and music blaring in the corridor hit him like a physical blow, but it didn't stop him from reaching his partner's side.
Dropping to one knee, he carefully pulled the observer into the shelter of his embrace. "What part of 'stay out' didn't you understand, Sandburg?" he growled, masking his concern with false annoyance.
Blair's head lolled back against Jim's shoulder. Pain-clouded blue eyes blinked and tried to focus. "Just doin'... my job..." he gasped.
Ellison shook his head in dismay, quickly evaluating the younger man's condition. It wasn't good. He snaked an arm around his partner and lifted Blair to his feet. Nudging the anthropologist's arm aside, the Sentinel tucked his Guide close to his side, pressing his own hand and upper arm against the freely bleeding wound.
He glanced up and down the corridor. The lights strobed and pulsed within the swirling smoke. Flames danced on the mirrored surfaces beneath their feet and over their heads. It was almost impossible to tell which were reflections and which were the real thing.
"Which way out?" Jim demanded, turning to Chambers.
The ex-Seal turned carnie looked around in confusion, his eyes widening in alarm. "I don't know. I came in the back way. I'm all turned around."
The Sentinel scanned the hallway again, angrily blinking away the tears blurring his burning eyes. Not even his enhanced vision could penetrate the thick blanket of smoke. He tried reaching out with his hearing, but the fire's growing screams of destruction deafened him to everything except his Guide's urgent whisper.
"Jim..."
Ellison looked down into his partner's wide blue eyes. Blair nodded his head and made a feeble motion with his right hand, indicating they should move forward.
"Spiral... stay... to the left..."
"Got it," Jim murmured, hugging Blair tightly to his side as another coughing fit shook the younger man's body. "Just hang on, Chief."
"I'll take point," Chambers volunteered, his uncertainty vanishing as he strode briskly ahead.
The detective urged his wounded partner into motion, following in the ex-Seal's wake. The flashing lights reflecting off the mirrored walls and the rising stench threatened to overwhelm the Sentinel, but he kept his attention focused firmly on his Guide. As they wound their way toward the main entrance, fighting the suffocating effects of the noxious fumes and the attraction's dangerously playful antics, Chambers alternated between scouting ahead and darting back to the partners to check their progress. When Jim stumbled at the end of the moving ramp, the carnie latched onto both men and dragged them toward daylight.
The trio emerged from the mouth of the tunnel mere seconds before the fun house roof collapsed inward, shooting a plume of fire and sparks high into the clear morning sky. Coughing and gasping for breath, Jim felt another set of hands close on his arm, dragging him and his semi-conscious burden down the steps. He jerked away from that hold when insistent fingers pried at the arm he had wrapped around his partner.
"Come on, Army, let go," Chambers' voice hissed in his ear. "Let the medics earn their pay."
"Listen to him, Jim. Sandburg looks like he could use some help."
Ellison looked up through streaming eyes into Simon's worried face. It took several seconds for the words to penetrate the detective's exhaustion-fogged daze, but he was finally persuaded to relinquished his charge into other capable hands. He watched anxiously as the EMTs eased Blair onto a stretcher and wrapped a pressure bandage around his abdomen. The Sentinel's fears eased slightly when his Guide's dark blue eyes fluttered open. Their gazes locked for a moment as they sought to assure themselves that the other was all right. Jim dropped to one knee beside his partner, gripped the younger man's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Blair's gaze shifted slightly and from behind the oxygen mask the paramedics had strapped over his lower face he murmured a raspy, 'Thank you.'
Jim glanced over his shoulder. Chambers stood behind him, looming protectively over the detective and his observer. The ex-Ranger rose to his feet and the carnie backed off a step.
"I'll second that," Ellison said gruffly, extending his hand to underscore his words.
Chambers' expression morphed from suspicion to surprise. He started to reach out to take the offered handshake, then suddenly snapped to attention and delivered a crisp salute.
"Glad to be of assistance, Sir," he replied, his eyes lighting with pride.
Jim returned the salute without hesitation and glanced down at his partner who, despite his obvious pain, was grinning in delight. The Sentinel flashed his Guide a relieved smile of his own, grateful that their joint nightmares were finally over.
Epilogue
Jim Ellison shouldered open the door to the loft juggling his keys, a bag of Chinese carry-out, a stack of case files and an armload of books he'd picked up for Blair at the university.
"Hey, honey, I'm home," he warbled in a weak falsetto.
The annoyed grunt which floated out of the living room in response to his greeting wasn't unexpected. Five and a half days of severely restricted activity had turned his normally good-natured partner sullen and snappish.
Jim nudged the door shut with his foot and dropped his keys into the basket, surreptitiously studying his loft mate as he carried their dinner into the kitchen.
Blair sat lengthwise on the couch, a blanket draped over his legs. On the coffee table were the remains of what had apparently passed for the young man's lunch -- a cup of tea and a half-eaten bagel. Piles of books, dog-eared anthropology journals, papers and blue exam booklets were stacked within arm's reach. The remote control for the television perched on top of the tallest stack of eclectic clutter.
It was a familiar scene, yet there were clear signs that things weren't quite back to normal. Blair's hair was limp and stringy, hanging in lank waves around his face. In order to keep the dressings on his wound dry, he had been forced to take sponge baths instead of showers and the gymnastics required to attempt washing his hair in the sink or tub were still beyond him. The glasses which he shoved impatiently up on his nose were his backup pair. The new wire rim's which had been ordered to replace the ones he had lost at some point during the confrontation with Arnie Klerk were in Jim's jacket pocket, their retrieval the last errand the detective had run on his way home. The stiff set of Blair's shoulders and the lines of strain around the dark blue eyes and frowning mouth suggested the anthropologist was still hurting.
