Mirror Mirror

By Mary Alice Pritchard

Jade sees the dead in mirrors. When a serial killer targets young homeless girls, she must enlist the aid of the police. Spider Demarcus is the detective she confides in. He has his own special talents his partner calls his spidey senses. When Jade shows up to offer information, Spider is suspicious of her motives. Jade knows the handsome detective doesn’t believe her, but he’s at least willing to use what she’s given him. When she tells him there are four more buried near an abandoned building, Jade can tell he’s worried and a bit angry with her, but she isn’t sure why. Their intense and instant awareness of each other both binds them closer and drives them apart. Sparks fly with their near hatred, but love and hate are two sides of the same coin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DCL Publications
• Release date: Jun 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9780985468200

Mary Alice Pritchard

Born in Greenwood, Mississippi, Mary Alice has lived all over the state of Mississippi. She’s a nurse and has worked in nearly every area of the profession. Her favorite area in the hospital is the Emergency Department with its fast pace and constant change, a true adrenaline junkie! Drawing from the rich culture of the South and her own menagerie of experiences, she spins addictive tales of romantic suspense often with the paranormal thrown in for good measure.She lives with several muses who both inspire her and conspire against her, their feline antics a constant source of entertainment and inspiration for her writing. Her love of animals is only matched by her love of books and the joy of exploring a new world every time she dives between the pages. When she can’t find one to entertain her, she writes her own.

Book preview

Mirror Mirror

By

Mary Alice Pritchard

DCL Publications, LLC

www.thedarkcastlelords.com

© 2012 Mary Alice Pritchard

All rights reserved

First Edition April 2012

DCL Publications

1033 Plymouth Dr.

Grafton, OH 44044

ISBN 978-0-9854682-0-0

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Annie Marshall, Beyond the Book Productions

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Dedication

I can’t thank my parents enough for all they’ve done for me. Through thick and thin, they’ve always been there to lift me up and set me back on the road again. Thanks Mom and Dad. I love you both.

Chapter One

It never got easier, not the kids. Spider Demarcus gazed out over the murky waters of the Mississippi River. The early light of dawn crept across the river chasing the swirls of mist rising to meet the new day. Early fall and still the days were too hot even though the nights were chilly, especially along the river. Spider drew in a deep breath and sighed, jamming his hands in his pockets. The knot in his throat didn’t ease as he turned back to where the body of a ten or twelve year old little girl lay in the tall grasses as if sleeping.

Only she wasn’t asleep and would never sleep again. Her bruised throat, a sharp contrast to the pale alabaster skin of her face screamed to Spider how large brutal hands squeezed the life from her. Whoever killed her had taken great pains to close her eyes, placing small pink stitches in each eyelid to hold them closed. He’d probably used the pink thread to match the pink dress. The frilly dress seemed more appropriate for church than a murder.

The child’s hands lay folded across her abdomen where a delicate porcelain doll rested beneath them. She seemed to be a typical child in her pretty pink dress and matching shoes. Only there was nothing typical about the dark purple bruises at her neck.

She made the second Caucasian female between the ages of nine and twelve in nearly three months. Almost six weeks separated their deaths. They’d find out she wasn’t registered in any system, not the school system or the child identification system. More than likely, she’d be a street kid with no known family. A run away or just one of those left behind when their parent died of an overdose or forgot where they were living. There were more stories about such kids than he liked to think about. More kids out there than he could even guess.

The first child fooled them with her pretty blond hair pulled neatly back with a barrette sporting a pink bow. Her pale skin almost glowed against the brown tinged dying grass with soft pink nails painted to match the fancy dress. It spoke of a nice middle class home with someone who loved her - would be missing her. But no one reported her missing and her prints weren’t in the system for registered children.

It was no surprise to Spider there were still kids out there unregistered and living on the streets. He’d seen plenty of them and scraped some of them up when life gave them their final insult. Ever since the horrible summer five years earlier when over two hundred children disappeared nationwide, all children are printed at birth now and again when they enter the school system. The bill coasted through the house and senate once they’d removed the much-debated section concerning micro-chipping. It was intended to help locate missing children, but many people saw it as yet another way the government invaded their privacy.

As much as Spider didn’t like the idea himself, times like this challenged his beliefs. Maybe they should rethink the idea of micro-chipping kids and provide a clause to allow the chips to be removed at a specified age – sixteen or maybe eighteen. Most pets and even livestock are micro-chipped now, and had been for the last ten years or so. Shit, they chipped criminals on conviction, saving a hell of a lot of time tracking them down once they were released. Yeah, a lot of them went so far as to dig the chips out themselves if they couldn’t find someone to do it for them. But it made a hell of a scar leaving no doubt what had made it.

Spider watched as they zipped the black bag over the little girl’s face before lifting her to the stretcher. It hung limp and empty at the bottom, another indication she was much too young to die, and too old to have lived without the love and security of a family. He knew what they would find out from the medical examiner (ME) once he completed his autopsy. Raped and strangled. Body clean, bathed and dressed in a brand new generic pink dress, probably bought at a dollar store or maybe Wal-Mart. No skin under her nails and no fingerprints left on the body, or anything for that matter. Nothing would be found on her body that didn’t belong there – except the bruises in the shape of fingers around her neck.

No, there’d be no prints in the system matching hers and no missing children report matching her description. Just another dead street kid. Cursing under his breath Spider turned away, searching for something to kick.

Spider, dude. The shiny bald head of Buster Antonio bobbed along below him as his partner of twelve years climbed the riverbank. "Nothing along the river that I can find. What are your spidey senses picking up?"

Not much. Same MO but nothing clicks. So far he’s killed two that we know of and doesn’t leave a damn thing behind. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, except the doll and the frilly clothes. Maybe something will show up with those.

So you’re sure this is the same guy then. Only two so far, Spider, you already calling it a …

Whoa! We don’t need it to get out until we’re sure. Spider’s lips tightened. They’d figured the first one a fluke but with two – it changed things. Only two they knew about. He’d have to do a little research to make sure. If this was the same guy, there’d be more somewhere, hidden away.

Raped? Buster crammed his large hands into the pockets of his slacks.

Probably, won’t know till they finish with her.

Shit.

You said it. Spider shook his head before turning around to make his way back to the car and the heater. The kids always made him cold.

* * * *

Even in the dim light of the flickering candles, Jade could see them in the mirror. They watched her as she watched them. They were always there - watching. Not always the same people, but they were always there. She felt compelled to listen to them and if they wanted something, she tried to help, but many were beyond her help. All she could do was listen. They told her things – terrible things, and as much as she wanted to walk away, she didn’t – couldn’t.

This time was no different. Five children, all murdered in the last year, and all wanting Jade to find their killer and stop him. They pleaded with her every time they caught her attention, their sad eyes too old for their tiny bodies. She wished she’d never added the mirrors around the house now. She should have stuck with using the one in her hidden room when she talked with them. Instead, they followed her from one mirror to the next with their accusing eyes. They gave her no peace except in sleep. And sleep came too infrequently when there were children involved.

One by one she blew out the candles along the mantel. Jade wondered again how they knew to come to her. Were there others like her out there somewhere, living the same hell she did? She’d never met anyone else who had her particular talent. Most times she felt it to be a curse. There had to be others or her mirrors would always be full of faces and eyes. But how did they find her? She asked herself this question all the time, but never seemed to remember to ask them. It wasn’t that important, but what they told her always was. They spoke of pain and sorrow, fear and despair. They wanted absolution, revenge and peace. Why they thought she could help them, Jade didn’t know. But they kept coming and she kept trying.

Jade finished blowing out all the candles and started to turn away from the framed mirror on the mantel. But a new face caught her attention. Her hand shook as she reached to the mantel to steady herself. Dear God, another child. He’d killed another child. Nearly six weeks and she’d hoped there’d be no more. Deep inside though, she had known there would be. He wouldn’t stop until he was caught. They never did. This one’s eyes weren’t sad though. Instead they screamed out with anger and rage, demanding Jade look at her – so Jade looked – and listened.

* * * *

Buster handed the file he’d finished copying to Spider before propping on the edge of his partner’s desk. He looked as tired as Spider felt and it was only ten in the morning.

See anything different between the two girls yet?

Buster shook his head. Nope. Not one damn thing. They’re the same all the way down to the pink stitches closing their eyes. Bastard’s whacking little girls and dressing them up. They get sicker every day, Spider.

What about the clothes? Do we know if the shoes are the same kind yet? They look like the same ones in the pictures. The dresses are different even though they’re pink, but the shoes look the same. Spider rubbed the back of his neck as he viewed the photos he’d downloaded to his computer.

They haven’t finished their prelim yet. Probably be tomorrow before we get anything.

It’s the same guy, Buster. It feels like the same one and so far, they look too much alike.

Yeah, I have to agree with you. I just don’t have to like it. All we need in this city is a serial killer on the loose targeting kids. Spider watched his partner walk around the desk dropping into his chair with a resigned expression. "Course it won’t matter to most people, they’re street kids, not their kids."

Yeah, she’s not in the system, like you said, a street kid. Spider sighed leaning back in the chair, clicking his pen. No one cares about them even though you see them everywhere on the streets. They look past them on their way to and from work every day. Spider stretched his aching back and drew in a deep breath. "But the media’ll make it an outrage, kids living on the streets, helpless and alone. They’ll say the police aren’t worried about some poor street kid and make us look like heartless bastards when it’s them who don’t give a rat’s ass unless it will increase their ratings."

Cynical bastard ain’t ya. Buster smiled and threw a wad of paper across the desk at him.

Spider hit it back, staring at the photos. They didn’t give much press to the first kid. Wasn’t important enough to fool with once we found out she was probably off the streets.

Hey, it made page six, ‘bout a paragraph I think. They didn’t have much other than she’s dead, blond hair, between eight and ten years old. That was about it.

So we know it’s not a copy cat since there wasn’t anything about the doll or the stitches. The pink dress and maybe even the shoes could have gotten out if anyone saw her before they bagged her. Spider flipped the pen over and over trying to think of a way he could rule out a serial killer working the city. I still want to hold off calling it for now. If there’s a third one though…

God I hope there isn’t. I’m tired of looking at dead kids. His partner rubbed both his hands over his face. "We always get the kids, Spider. Is that you’re doing, you and your spidey thing? Cause if it is, stop it!"

"Wish I could say it was so I could stop it. But you’re right. We always seem to be the ones pulling the kids. Luck of the draw according to dispatch. He chuckled when Buster’s head shot up. Yeah, I’ve asked ‘cause I noticed it with the last case, and then when we got called out on this one, I made it a point to find out."

You never cease to amaze me, partner. Shaking his head, Buster punched up his computer to begin entering their reports. Want to draw straws for the phone-ins?

Anytime they had a murder that got any sort of press coverage they ended up with call-ins claiming to have information on the murder. Most of them were cranks or just mistaken citizens trying to do the right thing. Took up valuable time and gave detectives everywhere a headache, but on the off chance someone really had something they could use, they had to listen and check out their claims.

Shit, I lose when we do that. Who had it last time? He frowned over at Buster, remembering his partner pulled crank duty last time. Maybe he’d forget and take it this time. He could only hope.

I did, so it’s you up this time. Buster grinned when Spider growled. Hey, you never know. Could be your lucky day. Shouldn’t start till tomorrow and someone might hand us the bastard on a silver platter.

I’ll kiss you’re ugly face if they do. Spider blew out a breath before getting back to studying the photos, comparing the two cases for similarities and differences. He’d get something done today because once the paper hit the streets tomorrow, he’d be too busy. The five o’clock news would probably have something on it, and by the ten o’clock edition they’d have more.

Let’s not get personal here buddy. I’m not that kind a guy. I’m a happily married man. Spider treated him to the one finger salute.

Hey, which one of you guys pulling crank duty on the kid homicides? One of the uniforms from the squad room stuck his head in the door looking around the room.

Well, that was fast. Buster’s brows knitted over his eyes. Think it’s for real?

Shit, don’t know. I’ll go see and grab you if it turns out to be anything. Probably someone saw the ME working and decided to get in on the action. Spider pushed to his feet and huffed out a breath.

That would be me. Set them up in the first interview room and I’ll be right in. The officer shrugged and closed the door behind him.

Great, just great.

* * * *

Oh, God. She was perfect. Someone will want her now. I just know it. All the dirt and grime had washed off so easily, and her hair had been even more beautiful than he’d imagined. They had seen how well he’d done his work. They had noticed how pretty she was and now she’d have her own family to love and care for her. If only he’d been able to stop himself. But he wouldn’t think about that. It wouldn’t matter. He was sure it wouldn’t matter.

She’d made him proud with her pale skin and the way she hadn’t struggled but let him bathe her, dress her in the pretty pink dress. The shoes fit perfectly, adding to her innocent look the way the dress fanned out around her. He was sure she was the perfect one and he was right. He always knew. Now he needed to find the next little angel – one worthy of a new family and a new home.

* * * *

Waiting in the small dingy room of the St. Louis, Missouri police department did little to ease Jade’s nerves. It reminded her too much of other times she’d stood in a room similar to this one. The lump in her throat grew thicker with each passing minute until she was sure it would eventually choke her. Trying to breathe around it made things worse, giving her a good whiff of the musty, sick smell in the room. It didn’t exactly stink, but there was a distinct odor permeating the furniture and walls. Stale sweat and the stench of fear, possibly even hers, hung heavy in the air. She would half to remember to breathe through her mouth.

Jade eyed the small table and chairs waiting in the middle of the room. They looked as if someone threw them around on a regular basis, and perhaps they did. All manner of criminals passed through the building, and many would have spent some time in this room. She couldn’t possibly sit down right now anyway. It took every ounce of will power to keep from running. Anxiety tugged at her stomach at the thought of becoming involved with the police once again. Jade was sure this time would be no different.

To begin with, they wouldn’t believe how she knew the things she’d tell them. Then they’d demand she tell them who the killer was because she’d have to know. How else could she have gotten the information? After that, she would look suspicious. Eventually they would grow tired of fencing with her, lose their cool, demanding and threatening her with obstruction of justice and jail. This was why she’d waited so long before contacting them. But she couldn’t hide anymore and couldn’t face those kids in the mirror without acting. Not until she tried to make someone believe her. If she could convince just one to listen to her, maybe they could stop the killer before he struck again. Even if they didn’t believe her, they could use her information, and that was all she could hope for – pray for.

Jade clasped and unclasped her hands as she paced, unable to be still. She avoided looking at the mirror across the room. Every police station she’d ever been in had at least one room with a two-way mirror. Jade was sure she would look nervous to anyone watching her, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was nervous. Then she wondered if someone was on the other side watching her through the mirror. It didn’t much matter. She had nothing to hide. A hysterical giggle fought to bubble its way from her mouth. They wouldn’t believe what she told them so she had no reason to hide anything.

Of course they were watching her, watching to see if she would really go through with it. The little girls, who hadn’t left her alone since they’d appeared nearly six months ago, wouldn’t disappear when they had so much at stake. They would all be there when she did look, all but the one who’d never shown up. She’d been much younger than the other three. The first four in this city were all buried, one next to the other, waiting to be found. They were waiting for her to find them.

Why they hadn’t shown up immediately after their deaths she didn’t know. Instead, those three appeared together one day in March. With three, she’d been afraid there would be more, but Jade began to relax when no one showed up during the following months. Then one afternoon in July, a fourth child appeared. And now the fifth one, not scared or even sad, but angry, demanding Jade act before it was too late for her friends.

Of all five of the children, it was the last one with her dirty brown hair framing her thin face who haunted Jade, even when she wasn’t looking in the mirror. Those large dark eyes full of accusation and rounded with tears followed her everywhere. She couldn’t ignore their eyes. She’d never been able to, but she hadn’t been able to help them either. It was time to tell someone, persuade them to listen, or at the very least, look into what she could give them. It would cost her. They’d call her crazy. They always did, but it wouldn’t matter if they caught the killer.

The sudden scrape of the door pushing open into the room startled Jade. She had to catch her breath, struggle to calm her frantically beating heart. The largest man she’d ever seen marched into the room with the air of someone resigned to a much-hated task, and she was the task. He must be seven feet tall, she mused. Rich brown hair, shaggy and unkempt, reached to his shoulders. Jade could overlook the rigid set to his jaw and his perfect white teeth, visible behind the hard predatory smile. It was his eyes she couldn’t get past. Bright, intelligent, hazel eyes with creases at the corners, maybe from squinting into the sun, but certainly not from smiling. Eyes that wouldn’t miss anything, including her sudden awareness of him, and she was very aware.

"I’m Detective Spider Demarcus.