The Looking Glass Page 11

His mother stood, shaking her head.

  “Sometimes you can’t fix things, Tony. I think your dad would agree.”

  He wouldn’t meet her eyes, but he didn’t argue. She grabbed her purse.

  “You told him?” he asked softly.

  Tony paled as she nodded.

  “He wants to talk to you. He’s angry.” Her fingers tightened around her purse. “I’m angry too. But for God’s sake let’s get out of this hospital. We can talk at home.”

  The picture rippled and dissolved, and as it did the entire silver pool began to pulse. It got very bright, then faded quickly, getting smaller and smaller until—with a final burst of bright white light—it disappeared entirely. The mirror was back to normal.

  Alice blinked, unclenched her hands, and crossed her arms. Her stomach was churning. She massaged her fingers, which tingled sharply—as though her circulation had been cut off and the blood was only just now coming back.

  In the room, George was silent for a moment, then said, in such a soft voice that Alice almost didn’t catch the words, “The pool. Sure. Absolutely.”

  Tony turned to face him. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing—nothing. It’s just that I’m surprised. You’re taking an interest. You’ve never seemed to care much about this sort of thing.”

  Shrugging, Tony answered, “Guess I’ve changed.”

  George fiddled with what looked like a knob on the box. “If Madeline could only see you now. … She wouldn’t be saying that you just came because you didn’t want me to feel bad, would she? She gave me such a bad time about it, too. And she was wrong. Wrong.” There was a pause during which George’s eyes gleamed and Tony looked a bit ashamed of himself. “Well,” George continued, “we may just make a ghost hunter out of you yet.”

  “So … we can put it by the pool, then?” Tony asked.

  George shook his head. “You kidding? You couldn’t keep me away.”

  They walked out of the room and Alice hurried into the hallway. She didn’t get very far; she had that freezing exhaustion she associated with throwing up. Lying down on the rug, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to remember what it felt like to be warm.

  For several minutes Alice lay on the floor, clutching her goose-bump–covered arms and trying over and over again to think of a way to escape George’s ghost-hunting tools should she appear again in the pool. But nothing seemed plausible. If she couldn’t even get herself out of the water, then how could she run away?

  She was coming up with nothing useful, and her mind started to wander. The car shooting by like a yellow bullet flashed before her eyes. She heard the scream again.

  Why had the girl shown this to her? She didn’t know what to believe, whether it was even possible that she had seen something real. And, even worse, if it had been true, where did that leave her? If the witch was powerful enough to read a person’s past, could she read someone’s present? Could she read minds?

  I want to talk to you. Alice mentally recited the words. She thought them slowly, lingering on every consonant. She shut her eyes and thought them again, picturing the girl, calling out to her.

  Can you hear me?

  There was no answer. Louder, then—Can you HEAR me?

  Still no response. “Hey!” she yelled, looking up at the mirror. She lifted herself up on her elbows, listening to her voice echoing down the hallway, but the girl did not appear. And Alice didn’t even know a name to call.

  “You!” she tried again. “You know I’m talking to you.”

  The paintings of Elizabeth glared down at her. There was utter silence. Alice shook her head. The only thing to do—the only thing that she could think of doing—was to forget it, write the whole mirror thing off as a trick. The girl was trouble. The girl was part of the house and the house only wished her harm. The girl was a witch. Alice knew it was true, but what she had seen haunted her nevertheless, like a bad taste in her mouth.

  And Tony … she’d been spying on him for days now, but for the first time she felt as though she’d really intruded. Like the time she’d read her mom’s journal. She’d been sick for days about it—all the complaining about being trapped, about how draining it was to be a mother. It had been like sinking into someone else’s cold, used bathwater.

  I didn’t have a choice. I don’t even know if it was true.

  And she didn’t—she had no idea. So why did she cringe away from thinking about what she’d seen?

  I hardly know him, she answered herself.

  This was what it came down to; it was an uncomfortable weight in her stomach. It didn’t even matter if what the girl had shown her had actually happened. Either way, it proved the same point—she knew almost nothing about Tony. He’d lived just as long as she had and she’d spoken to him for less than an hour—how could she know that he wanted to help her or that he even would? She couldn’t. The girl was right.

  She sat up, shivering. Her stomach was steadier, but more than anything she wanted comfort, and comfort was hard to come by in this place. She wished she had something to eat, craved the familiarity of chewing and tasting, though she felt no hunger. Her bare legs were covered in goose bumps, and she couldn’t stop thinking about her old, comfortable jeans—the ones that her mom wouldn’t let her leave the house in. Tony’s sweatshirt was thin, hardly enough fabric to keep her from shivering, and her bare legs were icy. It hit her that there was a closet in the library and, pulling herself to her feet, she rushed down the stairs, trying to step lightly on her right foot, hoping there would be coats inside.

  Alice pulled the door open and it creaked so loudly that she jumped. There was more than she had bargained for. It looked as though every single dress Elizabeth had ever worn in a play was stuffed in here. The small space was full to bursting with silk and velvet and feathers. Alice pulled out a deep red shawl and draped it around her shoulders, but couldn’t resist looking through the rest of the clothes. There was an exquisite blue velvet dress and a peach-colored toga. So many gowns she lost count.

  And then, in the corner, the most beautiful sage green she had ever seen.

  It was what Elizabeth was wearing the last time she was painted, Alice realized, holding the dress up and comparing it to the painting on the wall.

  Her legs were freezing; she looked at the long skirt. She bit her lip, then pulled off the shawl and sweatshirt and stepped into the dress, doing her best to zip up the old-fashioned zipper on the back. Then, pulling the sweatshirt back on, she threw the shawl back into the closet and closed the door.

  The weight of the dress was comforting somehow and finally, she started to feel warm. But when she looked up at the painting, she felt as if she were looking in a mirror and she quickly turned away.

  The diary was on the floor where she had put it down. She walked over and stared down at it; it looked even smaller from this far up, positively miniature next to her foot. Its smallness was almost cute, nearly appealing … like candy-coated poison. Though she was tempted to leave it there—wished she could never have to open it again—there was nothing better to do now. And, after all, it was the only clue she had to go on.

  ***

  May 13, 1883

  Lillian betrayed me yesterday.

  Now I shall loathe her until the day I die.

  She said that William had come for me. I still don’t know why I believed her, little demon that she is. William is dead. I should have remembered that if he weren’t, he already would have come. Perhaps I was simply too hopeful to be cautious. Either way, I trusted her. I hurried to the front door at once. I didn’t even put my books back under the floorboard for safekeeping. Lillian followed behind me. If I had been paying attention, I might have noticed that she was acting strangely. But my love was at the door and I could think of nothing else.

  Only he wasn’t. The person at the door wasn’t my William at all.

  Heavens, I can hardly write, it makes me so angry. I wish I could strangle her. I would like nothing better than to w
rap my hands around her little throat and shake it, feel her head bobbing helplessly about. The witch would have done it—I know she would. She nods me on, trying to get me to do it. I, however, am above such paltry revenge. I shall find a better way to see justice served.

  The witch does not always know best.

  When the man at the door grabbed hold of my arm, I knew that something was wrong. And then I saw it—the carriage with words printed on the side. The door, open and waiting to receive me.

  I do not know exactly what I did to the man, but I remember that he fell at my feet, groaning in pain. My sister ran toward me and tried to push me into the arms of another man waiting nearby, but I slapped her so hard that she fell to the ground. She is lucky that I did not do worse. The other man I fled from, all the way to my attic room. I have barricaded the door with my chest of drawers now. Lillian may bang on it all she likes. I shall never let her inside again. Never.

  It is a miracle that she didn’t steal the books while I was distracted.

  I hear my father yelling outside. Creaking—there, the carriage is leaving. They are gone—Father has taken care of it. I think he is coming inside now. Is that the door? Yes, it was the door. He is outside my room, with Lillian—he is yelling again, now at her. I can hear quite clearly through the wall. He is very angry. He tells Lillian that she had no right to contact the asylum without his permission. Now she is yelling. She says that he has gone mad too. She says that it’s dangerous to have me around the house, in my condition.

  I don’t understand what she means by “my condition.” I am perfectly well. The doctor knew that I was.

  Now it is Father’s turn. He says that this is his property and he will do with it as he likes. He will keep me here if he wishes to. Lillian is furious. Goodness how she yells! She says that his business has always benefited from having an actress in the house to amuse the boarders. She is calling him selfish. And now she is calling me spoiled.

  “You love her more!” she screams.

  That is the heart of it. She is jealous of me! I always knew that she was.

  Oh look! The argument is over and now it is just Father knocking on my door. I will not let him in right now. What if Lillian is watching? What if she forces her way inside?

  I tell him that I will open the door later.

  “Why?” he asks.

  I tell him that I must wait until it is safe and he is silent for a moment. Then I hear him walking away. How heavy his footsteps sound! I have never noticed how loudly they ring before.

  I am back at my desk now; I have the book of curses in my lap. I am planning. Lillian has crossed a line today. It is time for her to reap her reward.

  And she shall reap it.

  ***

  The clock began to strike midnight and Alice jumped. She braced herself … but nothing happened. Ten … eleven … twelve strokes and still she stood, just as solid as before. She wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

  Alice slumped down onto the floor, next to the lamp that she had lit a few hours before. It was starting to smoke and she adjusted the wick. There was a lump in her throat the size of an egg; she hadn’t come this close to crying in a long time.

  There was no reason to believe it would happen again, she reminded herself. Nothing in this place made sense anyway; nothing was reliable. So why was she so disappointed? What was there for her out there anyway?

  There was the key.

  And Tony.

  “You changed your colors.”

  The girl. For once, Alice was almost glad to see her. She ran into the entryway and straight to the mirror. The girl stared back at her—same clothes, same triangle bracelets, same rope necklace.

  “What was that about? Why did you show me that?” Alice said.

  The girl tilted her head. “What’s to explain? I wanted to help you see what it is you can’t. Because I’m your friend.”

  “And what is it that I can’t see?”

  The girl’s eyes left Alice’s face and swept down to her dress. She looked pleased. Meeting Alice’s gaze again, she said, “That you don’t know him. That he has a whole life behind him and you know nothing about it. How can you trust him?”

  “I don’t know you,” she said, self-consciously smoothing the folds of the gown. “How do I even know you’re not lying to me?”

  “I guess you don’t. But I think we both know that that’s not really the problem here.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t want to believe me, Alice. You don’t want me to be telling you the truth. Because you’re just so desperate for anyone to swoop in and save you that you’ll give your heart and soul to the first person who stops long enough for you to latch onto.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” She could feel her cheeks coloring. At least she knew now that the girl really couldn’t read minds. If she could, she would never think—not even for a second—“I don’t—Tony is just … I’m just hoping he can help me. Because I want to not die. There’s nothing more to it than that. And he’s been a whole lot more helpful than you!”

  The girl cut her off. “I wasn’t talking about Tony, but it’s funny you should mention him … ” she said, giving Alice a look that was both significant and accusatory—her eyebrows slightly raised, her lips curled into a little smile.

  Alice had always wondered what it would be like to have a sister. She thought now that it might feel something like this. It was as though the girl knew exactly which buttons to push—she knew just how to twist things to make Alice as irritated as possible.

  “I was talking about your life,” said the girl, which was funny coming from someone who looked as though she had known no more of life than Alice had.

  “I’ve always been self-reliant. I don’t ask people to save me. Not usually,” Alice assured her.

  “And you spend every day wishing you could, wishing you had friends to share the burden.”

  “I have friends,” she said automatically.

  “Yes. You have me.”

  Alice laughed. “I don’t know who you are or what you want or what you’re trying to do, but I can tell you for certain that you’re not my friend.”

  “Of course,” said the girl, taking Alice by surprise. “Of course. I’d forgotten what wonderful friends you already have. You know what? Why don’t I let you spend some quality time with them?”

  Before Alice had time to ask what the girl meant by this, she had blown on the glass and disappeared.

  “Not again,” said Alice as the now-familiar silver pool appeared. She tried to walk away, sure that she didn’t want to see anything that the girl wanted to show her, but when she heard her own voice she turned around.

  “What is it?”

  She was sitting at her desk doing math homework. Her mom walked in and watched her for a moment before asking, “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

  Alice put her pencil down. “Ready for what?” She was wearing her pajamas and her hair was wet from the shower.

  Trapped Alice swallowed hard. She remembered this. This had happened not two months ago. How could the girl possibly have known …

  “The sleepover? At Shay’s?” her mom said, walking over to her dresser and pulling out a shirt. “Here, I’ll pack some stuff for you.”

  “Sleepover? What are you talking about?”

  Her mom was looking through her underwear drawer now. “Don’t you ever fold anything?”

  “Mom!” Alice hurried over and shut the drawer. “Mom, there isn’t a sleepover.”

  “Yes, there is. Mollie’s mom told me about it. She’s going. And I know that you’re friends with them so I just figured that—”

  “I can’t,” said Alice quickly. She pulled the shirt out of her mom’s hand and stuck it back in the drawer, taking her time so that her mom wouldn’t see her face. Taking a deep breath, she turned back around. “Homework. Studying. Finals. I’m swamped! So don’t worry about it. Shay and Mollie understand. I’ll just … get back to work now.”

&nbs
p; Alice walked back to her desk but her mom didn’t leave. She sat down on the bed, frowning.

  “They didn’t invite you, did they?”

  “Of course they did. I just … forgot, you know?”

  But the lie was no good. Her mom had a hand to her forehead and she was shaking her head violently. “I don’t believe this. They can’t keep excluding you. You were best friends in elementary school.”

  “It’s high school, Mom. It’s been years.”

  “You know what?” Her mom stood up. “I’m calling Shay’s mom. You’re going to that sleepover, Alice. Her mom will understand … it’s unfair to exclude … ”

  “Mom! Don’t!”

  But her mom was already out the door. The picture fizzed and was gone.

  Alice sat down weakly on the couch. She wasn’t sure what disturbed her more—that what the girl had shown her wasn’t a lie, or that the other things she had said might not be lies either.

  ***

  May 14, 1883

  I have opened my door again. Father has assured me that there will not be a repeat of yesterday. Lillian is being punished. She is not allowed to leave the house anymore. Instead, she must care for me and show me the sisterly kindness that she finds so hard to grasp. I find it fitting. I have always had to lead the way as far as love is concerned. I sometimes tire of being the better person.

  I rather like the thought of her as my maid. She, on the other hand, is furious. She goes stomping around the house, disturbing the boarders and making Father angry. Lillian has never had much sense; she doesn’t know the difference between punishing others and punishing herself.

  She despises me—I am even more certain of it today than I was before. The little brat gave me the newspaper with my breakfast today. She’s never done that before and I knew at once that she had some hidden, vengeful purpose in it. I was right.

  I didn’t find the article until I had read all the way through the first three pages. When I saw the headline, I almost didn’t go on. Lillian was just trying to punish me for keeping the witch’s things from her.