Satan's Mirror Page 2

  “Yes. Thank you.” Dan set his equipment on the table, withdrawing his favorite Olympus digital camera. “May I take your picture?”

  “Oh,” she said, blushing and patting her hair.

  She wore her hair in a high ponytail tied with a blue bow. Her shirtwaist dress was also blue. She seemed a well-preserved fifty-plus, Emily thought and was suddenly reminded of her grandmother.

  Emily opened her book. “What is your full name?”

  “Anna Kraft.” She set a flame beneath a percolator. After a moment, she carried the plate of cookies to the table.

  Dan leapt up, scraping his chair. “Here, ma’am.”

  “No, no, you sit. We don’t get much call for extra seats around here.”

  “There’s just the two of you?” Emily asked. “No Mr. Kraft?”

  Anna laughed. “My man ran out right after he got a good look at his son. Ain’t seen him since.”

  “I know what that’s like.” Emily nodded. “My husband left when I told him I was pregnant. When I say left, I mean out of the country. Turned out he wasn’t the responsible type.”

  “Well, good riddance, I say. We can get along without them.”

  Emily smiled. She listened to the sound of percolating coffee. “Tell me about Sheldon.”

  “He’s not part bat, I can promise you that. He was a breech birth is all. Poor child. His spine got so twisted up his legs never grew. And his face was kind of pulled.” She made upward movements with her hands.

  “How old is he?”

  Anna looked away, her voice turning husky. “Twenty-five.”

  “The farmers near here claim he’s killed their cows.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She poured coffee into three cups. “He don’t never go out except to get the mail from the box out on the main road. No. Sheldon’s a good boy. So smart. Home-schooled, of course. I taught him the basics best I could, but he always wanted to know more. ‘How does this work?’ he’d say. ‘What happens to that?’ So when he got a little older he studied by mail. Sugar? Fresh cream?”

  “Cream, please.” Emily accepted the steaming cup. “You said he took mail order courses. What did he study?”

  “All sorts of things. He has a degree as a television repairman and as a legal assistant. But it wasn’t until I bought him his first computer that he found his life’s calling. It opened the whole world to him.”

  “I imagine so. Computers have changed the lives of many disabled people.” Emily sipped her coffee. “Have you tried surgery to correct his spine?”

  “He was turned down. Not a good candidate.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” She took another sip and set down her cup. “It’s so nice here. You have a lovely home.”

  “Thank you. It’s not much, but it suits us fine.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, how do you support yourselves living way out here on your own?”

  “I got a large settlement from the hospital,” Anna said, “which I put into a trust fund for Sheldon. With the stock market being what it is, he’s got himself a nice nest egg. We don’t need to touch it much, though. As I said, my son’s found his calling in computers. He’s started a computer debugging business that he runs from his web page. People post their computer problems, and for a fee he explains how to fix them.”

  “Ingenious,” Dan blurted. “You’ll have to give me his website.”

  Emily glanced at him, silently chastising him for the interruption. “Your son sounds brilliant. May we meet him now?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Anna became flustered. “As I said, we don’t get many visitors. But he did lead you here instead of getting you lost in the woods.”

  “At the very least, my story can drive more traffic to his website,” Emily said.

  Anna sighed. “All right. He’s upstairs in his workroom.”

  Emily set her cup in the sink and followed her through a sparse yet comfortable living room. A single, overstuffed couch faced a television. An aquarium of bright tropical fish bubbled and hummed beneath a beautiful painting of trees and sunlight.

  “Sheldon painted that,” Anna said over her shoulder.

  “Be sure to get it,” Emily whispered without looking at Dan. She knew he’d have his digital camcorder out, recording the room.

  Framed certificates lined the stairwell, and as Emily climbed, she read them: Presented to Sheldon Kraft for outstanding achievement in woodwork, automobile mechanic certification, physical therapist degree, septic tank conditioning. There was even an award in journalism, she noted with a smile. Either Sheldon was a true genius or these mail-order courses were way too simple.

  She reached the landing and stood behind Anna who was looking flustered once more.

  “Sheldon?” Anna knocked at a door. “Emily Goodman is here wanting to speak with you. She’s the lady from TV. You know she’ll be fair.”

  There was no answer.

  Anna glanced at Emily as if frightened, then said, “We’re coming in.” She opened the door and stepped inside.

  Compared to the rest of the house, this room was in disarray. Tables lined all four walls. They held computer monitors, cables, and green circuit boards along with scattered pliers and screwdrivers. In the center of the room, nearly hidden by a stack of boxes, was a paper-strewn desk. Behind the desk sat Sheldon. He held so still, Emily didn’t notice him at first.

  His face seemed too high, as if it sat atop his head. A double cleft palate split his mouth and nose; his ears were long and pointed.

  He turned his head, watching her—his eyes were spaced so widely apart, he could see out of only one eye at a time. He slid his chair back from the desk, hopped to the floor and walked toward her on his knuckles. His shoulders were thick and muscular, his arms overlong. He wore a large, charcoal gray sweatshirt that gave him the appearance of wings. His legs, or what Emily could see of them, were shrunken, curled, and useless.

  The Bat Boy. Another myth exposed. She’d have those farmers eating their words.

  TWO

  “He’s intelligent,” Emily said to her managing editor, Ross Devine, as they stood in his New York office. “He has this quirky sense of humor.”

  “Is that so?” Ross thumbed through the photos of Sheldon Kraft. “Maybe we should change his nickname from Bat Boy to Dream Boy.”

  She slapped his arm, smiling. “Don’t get cute.”

  “I’m not joking, Em. You’ve painted this kid with a pretty rosy spotlight. You’re supposed to be impartial.”

  “I investigated a Bat Boy who was accused of terrorizing a community and sucking the blood of cows. As far as those allegations go, Sheldon is innocent.”

  “Just once I wish you’d find a real bogeyman.”

  She laughed. “No you don’t.”

  “You’re right.” He slid the photographs into an envelope. “Have you turned in your expenses?”

  “I was about to. I also want to stop by editing and check on Dan’s video.”

  “I’m the editor around here,” Ross said, smiling. “You’re always pushing.”

  “That’s because you have the cushy job.”

  “You wouldn’t like it,” he said, sitting behind his desk. “Go on home. Tell April I said hello.”

  She grinned. “If you insist.”

  He called to her as she reached the office door. “It’s a good piece, Em. Well done.”

  “Thanks. I just hope we can quell the sightseers and give the man his dignity.”

  “Me, too. Goodnight.”

  Emily stopped at her office-slash-dressing room, chuckling at a question her daughter once posed about whether she was a reporter or a TV star. She picked up her purse and a copy of her expenses and headed to Accounting.

  “Here you are, Marge.” Emily placed the report on the elderly woman’s desk.

  Marge blinked, her watery eyes magnified by oversized glasses. Wisps of white hair stirred around her face. Marge always complained she was cold. The multitude of space heaters she hid around the r
oom warred with the air conditioner, making it seem almost breezy. Emily often teased that between the space heaters and the papers, the Accounting Department was a fire hazard.

  “All right, honey,” Marge said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks. See you later.”

  With her purse over her shoulder, Emily hurried toward the lobby. Many of the offices were already dark, but the lobby was bright and pleasant. She waved at the security guard sitting behind the reception desk. “Hello, Frank.”

  “Evening, Miss Goodman. How are you tonight?”

  “Tired.” She sighed. “I’ll be glad to get home, put my feet up.”

  “I doubt you’ll have time with that little one of yours.” Frank laughed.

  “How’s your family? Kids still have the flu?”

  “Nah, they’re fine. Back to school.”

  “That’s good.” Emily smiled. “Can you call a cab for me?”

  “My pleasure.” He turned his attention to the desk.

  A short time later, a yellow cab pulled up.

  “Thanks, Frank,” she said. “Have a nice night.”

  “You, too, Miss Goodman.” He locked the door behind her.

  Emily settled in the cab’s back seat. It stank of mildew and citrus air freshener. She gazed out the window at a waning sunset and brightening storefronts. It felt good to be home.

  But as she thought that, she recalled Sheldon’s roses and remembered Dan asking where she would put a garden.

  Emily lived in a brownstone—no real yard, one spindly tree out front. She didn’t hate it there—it was close to the studio and the neighbors were nice. But she often wondered if it was the best place to raise a child. As a result, she took April on weekend outings and spent as much time as she could on Grandfather’s farm.

  When she was young, Emily spent every summer with her grandparents. That was where she found her love of archery. She wished her daughter could visit there more often.

  The cab stopped at her house. She gave the driver a smile and a generous tip. She always tipped well—Lord knows service employees made little enough. And she found her reputation as a healthy tipper brought better service.

  Emily got out of the cab and gazed up the eight steps to her door. She felt so tired they seemed insurmountable. But she climbed and soon had the front door open. The wonderful aroma of dinner oozed out—along with the song of a Strawberry Shortcake video played at full blast.

  “Mommy!” Her six-year-old daughter bounded down the hallway.

  Emily knelt and hugged her. “How was school?”

  “Good,” said April. “I made you a picture. Esmeralda put it on the refrigerator.”

  “I can’t wait to see it.”

  She cupped her daughter’s little face in her hands. April had inherited Emily’s hated freckles and upturned nose. But she had her father’s pouting lips, reminding Emily of him, even after six years.

  She kissed her forehead. “You’re getting so big.”

  “Welcome home, Miss Goodman.” Esmeralda stepped into the living room. Esmeralda was April’s nanny, but she also worked as the housekeeper, cook, and household accountant. “We held dinner for you.”

  “Baked chicken,” April said. “I helped.”

  Emily stood, smiling. “I’d better get washed up, then. Let me see. Which way is the bathroom?”

  “I’ll show you.” April took her hand and tugged her up the stairs.

  In the living room, Esmeralda turned off the video.

  Emily tossed her purse on her bed as she passed the master bedroom and allowed April to pull her into the bathroom. It was the only bathroom in the house, much to Esmeralda’s dismay. Her room was off the kitchen. April pumped a handful of soap from a purple heffalump dispenser and helped wash Emily’s hands.

  “Did you do your homework?” Emily asked.

  “Yep. We had math today.”

  “That sounds fun. You’ll have to show me after dinner.”

  “All right.” April grinned. “Race you.”

  They clambered downstairs and into the dining room. Esmeralda gave them both a disapproving glance.

  “This looks wonderful,” Emily said, hoping to distract her.

  The table was beautiful. Esmeralda had brought out the good plates and lit a tapered candle. The meal was one of Emily’s favorites—baked chicken breasts with gravy, mashed potatoes, and fresh green beans with mushrooms.

  Emily helped April sit, and then pushed in the heavy, wooden chair. “Napkin on your lap, please.”

  She sat across from Esmeralda, who bowed her head to say grace. Emily never discouraged this, although she didn’t join in. She believed in God, but she felt religion was a man-inspired attempt at social control. However, she wanted her daughter to make up her own mind and encouraged her exposure to many beliefs.

  After grace came the clink of plates as they set upon the delicious fare. Emily was ravenous. She started on a second helping before speaking.

  “Any problems while I was gone?” she asked Esmeralda.

  “None at all.”

  “Tommy Bernstein chased me around the school playground yesterday,” April said. “I told the crossing guard on him.”

  “Really?” said Emily. “Why was he chasing you?”

  “He wants me to marry him. Yuck.”

  “Well, you did the right thing, going to the crossing guard. Always tell a grownup.”

  “I bet he wouldn’t chase me home if I had a dog.”

  Emily and Esmeralda exchanged amused looks. This was a popular dinnertime topic.

  “I’ve already explained to you why we cannot have a dog,” Emily said.

  “But everyone else gets to have one,” April whined.

  “Is that true? Everyone has one?”

  Esmeralda cut in. “If you’ve finished eating, you may carry your plate to the kitchen. Bedtime at nine o’clock sharp, young lady.”

  “Thank you for the delicious meal.” April slid off her chair. As she passed them on her way to the kitchen, she muttered, “I don’t know why I have to be the only person in the world…”

  Emily stifled a laugh. “Maybe we should consider getting a puppy for Christmas.”

  “Don’t expect me to train it.” Esmeralda tossed down her napkin and got to her feet. “You coddle her too much.”

  “Maybe so.” Emily shrugged, and her smile faded.

  She helped clear the table, and then sat on the living room floor with April, doing simple addition. They were having so much fun that when the grandfather clock chimed nine, Emily was almost resentful.

  “Come on, I’ll tuck you in,” she told her daughter.

  “Can I sleep with you tonight? I don’t want to stay in my room,” April said.

  “Why, sweetheart?”

  “Because there are monsters.”

  Emily paused. For a moment, she flashed back to when she was six years old. She had confided in a schoolmate that a monster lived in her closet—and that friend promptly told everyone in her class. Emily couldn’t remember the little girl’s name, but her face still stung when she recalled the humiliation.

  “Well,” she said as she guided her daughter upstairs, “what do you think the monsters want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Not all monsters are mean, of course. Some of them want to play.”

  “They do?” April’s eyes widened.

  “Sure,” said Emily. “The next time those monsters come to your room, you ask them why they are there. I’ll bet they just want to have fun.”

  “What if it’s for the other thing? To bite me,” she whispered.

  “Then yell for me, and I’ll come running.”

  “To save me?”

  Emily hugged her. “I will always come to save you.”

  THREE

  Emily woke smiling. She was in her own bed—not a hotel bed and not, God forbid, another sleeping bag on assignment somewhere. She breathed deeply of the fragrant, gingham sheets, and then sat, danglin
g her feet to the floor.

  Voices traveled up the stairs—April and Esmeralda were in the kitchen. Emily caught a faint whiff of brewing coffee. Follow that smell, she told herself. After she donned her slippers, she went downstairs.

  April sat at the kitchen table behind an enormous bowl of Cookie Crunchies. She grinned. “Morning, Mommy.”

  “Good morning, sweetheart.” Emily kissed the top of her head.

  Esmeralda poured egg batter into a skillet, which sizzled and hissed. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be getting up. I’m making omelets.”

  “Sounds good. What flavor coffee is this?”

  “German Chocolate Cake.”

  Emily poured a cup, chuckling. “You are such an adventurer.”

  “Mommy, can you walk me to school?”

  “I’m sorry, baby, but there isn’t time. I’m not even dressed.”

  “You never want to.”

  Emily sat at the table. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll hurry and get ready, and we can share a cab.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Now if you’ve finished your breakfast, go upstairs and brush your teeth.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” April put her bowl in the sink and bounded out of the room.

  Esmeralda sniffed. “You spoil that child.”

  With a shrug, Emily sipped the hot coffee. “This is really good.”

  Esmeralda placed two cheese omelets on the table and turned to get the toast.

  Emily took another sip. “So, what have you got planned for today?”

  “Groceries. Errands.” She sighed as she sat. “I expect you’ll be out on the range.”

  “I thought I might.” Emily dug into the omelet.

  The range she referred to was Clive’s Archery Emporium. Emily’s grandfather had started her bow hunting as a kid, and she competed in tournaments through college. Let the neighbors take up racquetball or golf if they like—she preferred the skill and concentration needed for a good target shoot.

  “Will you be home for dinner?” asked Esmeralda.

  “That’s the plan,” she said between mouthfuls. “I doubt Ross will send me out again for a few days.”

  “I’d like this evening off, if you don’t mind.”