"My Reflection Is Laughing At Me"

[olddochermes2]

"My Reflection Is Laughing At Me"

3/22-3/25/2003

I.

It wasn't just that Megan and Ashley were two attractive young women walking briskly through the mountain town of Newkirk, Vermont that drew interested looks. Their contrasting color schemes were also striking. At five feet one, slim and waifish, Ashley Whitaker had shining silver-blonde hair, crystal blue eyes and skin its palest at the end of Winter. And she was wearing all white... high-top sneakers, jeans, blouse and light windbreaker.

A little bit taller and more solidly built, Megan Salenger had short black hair that was untidy as if she hadn't brushed it, dark thoughtful eyes and olive skin. Her clothing was black.. short boots, snug trousers and a waist-length jacket.

More than one passer-by seeing them was reminded of the old ads for Scotch that featured a little black dog and white dog, or a Yin-Yang symbol.

Ashley was on a rant about guitars. "...The annoying thing is that I can't get calluses on my fingers any more. The Tagra tea has elevated my healing factor so much that they won't form. Every time I touch the strings, it's like the first time. What am I going to do?"

"The benefits of our enhancing healing outweigh any slight drawbacks," Megan replied.



"There you go being reasonable again. You know what Jeremy told me? He said we would be wasting our time getting tats. He said Tel Shai knights can't keep tattoos. Our bodies just reject the ink in a day or two. Come on! Is that fair? I wanted something small and tasteful, not a whole sleeve."

"I do not see the appeal of marking one's skin that way," said the Trom Girl.

"And since my war name or call sign or whatever is Unicorn, I figured a small cute Unicorn up on my shoulder would be nice. I dunno about you, being raised by the Trom to be a world class genius in a hundred fields. Maybe a math equation? If you HAD to get inked, what would you choose?"

Megan slowed and tilted her head. "Ashley, you continually make me consider ideas that would never occur to me otherwise. There is a strong random element in your thinking."

"I'll take that as a compliment," the Unicorn smirked. "We mere Humans are creative and surprising in our humble way."

"Very true, but now we should concentrate on our assignment." Megan paused on the sidewalk next to a new elm. This was a rather upscale residential neighborhood where the houses and the cars were all well maintained and not a scrap of litter was to be seen.

They had left Megan's red Jeep Cherokee across the street in a convenient spot where they could pull out quickly if need be.

In front of them was a long one-story white frame house with a slate roof and a paved parking area big enough for several cars. Only a black BMW stood there at the moment. A discreet bronze plaque by the door read DR MYRON CRAWFORD, HYPNOTHERAPIST. BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. Megan took a step toward the door, but Ashley held her back by one arm.

"Wait a minute, Megs," said the Unicorn in a low voice. "I never asked you, what do the Trom think about hypnotism? Is it real or baloney?"

"We agree with the general consensus. Hypnosis is an altered state of consciousness which affects the suggestibility of different people to greater or lesser degree. It is not an exact science with reliable results."

"Gotcha. Thanks, Science Nerd."

Megan had gotten used to her teammate's nicknames and was no longer annoyed by them. She pressed the round white doorbell twice and the door opened immediately.

"You're from the Kenneth Dred Foundation?" asked a mild voice. Myron Crawford seemed to be in his late fifties, well below average height, slight in build. Receding drab brown hair and a marked overbite did not add to his appearance. He was wearing a thick bathrobe over white flannel pajamas, with slippers.

By this time, Megan and Ashley had enough Kumundu training that they instantly appraised everyone they encountered. Crawford was not a credible threat. His body language indicated he was in considerable pain, favoring a stiff right leg and bending forward slightly. The subvocal tremors in his voice confirmed this. The two Tel Shai knights recognized that his discomfort was not from arthritis but from recent injury. A bruise up by his right ear added evidence.

"Yes, we called yesterday," Megan said. "Thank you for agreeing to see us. I understand your office is closed on Wednesdays."

"Ahh, the police have been here all morning anyway, and I suppose you are going to ask the same questions they did," he grumbled. "Please come in."

They were ushered past a waiting room with padded chairs and a wall rack of magazines into Crawford's office. Old-fashioned and reassuring with its wood-paneled walls and bookshelves, its furnishings included a long leatherbound couch with several throw pillows and two comfortable chairs. The desk was piled with papers, journals and a huge ceramic coffee mug with a picture of a total eclipse on it.

Lowering himself into the swivel chair behind his desk, Crawford sighed with relief. "Please make yourselves comfortable, young ladies. I have to say I'm still not quite clear on exactly what your foundation does? Or what it might have to do with me?"

Unicorn glanced over at her partner, who was turning one of the chairs to face Crawford. Megan took over speaking, "We're a non-profit research organization, doctor. One of our areas of interest is unusual crimes. Spree killers, impersonators, cults. There have been four robberies recently, with the common factor being that three of the victims are patients of yours."

"Yes, yes. You're Miss Whitaker?"

"I'm Megan Salenger. My teammate there is Ashley Whitaker. I doubt if the police are considering you as a likely suspect in these crimes."

"Indeed? They didn't give me that impression! They acted as if I'm as good as convicted but of course that's nonsense."

The Trom Girl was studying every detail of the room, from the titles of the reference books to a small ivory statuette of a rearing horse on a shelf to the conical lamp on a flexible stand next to the couch. But she replied instantly, "To gain access to George Schussler's window required considerable agility and forcing the gate at Dorothy Langhardt's house demanded respectable strength. Last night, the burglar was seen leaping down from a third story roof to a concrete sidewalk and running off. These feats could not be performed by any person not in peak athletic condition."

"Which leaves me out, of course," Crawford said sourly. "Oh, I know I'm not Olympic material. Have you spoken to my patients about their being robbed?"

"Not yet. I understand two of them were seeing you to quit smoking and one to lose weight. Is that accurate?"

"Oh, I can't discuss that," said Crawford. "That's confidential. You understand."

"Certainly. Dr Crawford, have you any conjectures of your own about these crimes?"

The therapist shrugged almost imperceptibly. "Nothing worth mentioning. I don't know much about crime."

At this point, Unicorn cut in, "I did want to ask you about your work. How does hypnosis work anyway? My mom thought it was some kind of sinister mind control."

"Oh, no, nothing like that," Crawford scoffed. "The truth is, the patient does it almost entirely by his or herself. The therapist just helps set up the relaxed and suggestible state of mind. You've heard the phrase, 'All I can do is help you help yourself?'"

"Oh, sure. You make it sound a bit like meditation," the little blonde said in a chirpier voice than she normally used.

"That's a fair statement." Crawford glanced back over at Megan. "If you don't mind my saying so, you ladies seem quite young to be investigating crimes. You don't seem to be more than college freshmen."

The Trom Girl rose smoothly to her feet. "We won't be taking up any more of your time right now, doctor, but I'm afraid we might have to trouble you again depending on developments."

Crawford got up to escort them back out, and Unicorn casually asked, "How'd you hurt your leg?"

"Tripped over my own feet like a fool," he laughed. "I'm no dancer. Well, good luck in your investigation, young ladies. My receptionist will be here tomorrow if you call. Goodbye." As he closed the door on them, Myron Crawford exhaled sharply and his face fell into a sullen scowl..

II.

Limping more obviously without anyone around to witness, Crawford went past his office to his private quarters at the rear of the house. In the slightly luxurious bathroom, he leaned heavily on the sink in its marble shelf and rinsed off his face with cold water that did not snap him out of his fear. Why did he wake up exhausted after nine hours of sleep? What was causing his soreness and stiffness every day? A vitamin deficiency? The beginning of rheumatoid arthritis? No. He had tried not to think of the possibilities but there was no harmless mundane explanation for his condition.

He let his head sag down as if weighed by cares. Sleepwalking didn't run in his family. In fact, he had never personally known anyone who did that. But it seemed possible that he was moving around the house at night without remembering it the next day, stumbling into furniture or maybe taking bad falls. As long as he was experimenting with self-hypnosis anyway, he should try to see if he could treat himself.

Dr Myron Crawford lifted his bleary gaze to the mirror and came close to having his heart stop entirely. His reflection was different. It showed a taller, more powerfully built man with wide shoulders and a deep chest. The hair was not thinning and lank but a full virile pompadour. Even the jaw was stronger.

Crawford's mind froze as its thinking processes could not handle this bizarre situation.

"You fool!" said the reflection out loud. "You complete and utter fool! You are so close but you are not ready yet!" And, just like that, Crawford found himself staring with bulged-out eyes at the perfectly normal reflection he shaved every morning. Already he had forgotten what he had seen.

III.

Back in Megan's Jeep Cherokee, the Unicorn pulled the strap across her chest and waited for her teammate to settle behind the wheel before speaking. "Hey, Science Nerd, I know something you don't know."

"Please tell me whatever it might be," Megan replied agreeably.

"Okay, okay, here it is. When we were in Dr Mild Little Creep's office, I distinctly smelled sour milk. That was funny, and after I thought about it a second, I remembered where I knew it from. It's an Alchemical formula."

"Yes." The Trom Girl held up the thin flat Link and turned its screen toward her partner. "Grendavil, to be exact. My analysis of particles in the air in ninety-eight per cent certain."

"Drat darn heck. I can't get a step ahead of you no matter what." Ashley began to pout but was too excited about a new mission to stay petulant. "That's the stuff the Green Mist used. I think Indigo the Illusionist had some on hand, too. It makes you real suggestible. If you inhaled a good snootful, you'd actually go jump off a bridge if someone told you to."

Megan did not immediately start her vehicle up. "I remember one other possible instance of a Grendavil user. One of Jeremy's earliest cases for Kenneth Dred involved a woman using the name Dee Nile."

That made Unicorn laugh. "I love the handles some of these characters come up with. So what's the plan, man?"

"We will doing research for the next few hours. I need my laptop, as the Link's screen is too small to be practical."

"We might as well be comfortable, Megs. There was a Barnes and Nobles back the way we came, we can nibble scones while we toil."

"I agree," the Trom Girl said. She started her Jeep and eased out into traffic. Megan drove with textbook precision, constantly checking the mirrors and being exactly where she should be for maximum efficiency. Ashley was deeply impressed by how smoothly her partner could parallel park in tight spaces.

At the Barnes and Nobel, they claimed a table in a corner of the Starbucks area. Ashley noticed that Megan set things up so that she herself had her back to the wall and that Ashley would be facing to watch anyone approaching. As the Trom Girl set up her laptop, Unicorn went to the counter to place their order.

She came back with buttered cinnamon scones and iced tea for both of them. Seating herself, she asked, "So I guess I'm going to spend my time chatting with cute guys on Facebook?"

Without looking up, the Trom Girl said, "I would like you to call Sable back at headquarters to report our progress and status before your social interactions."

"Sure, no problem."

Ninety minutes crawled by. As Megan worked, Ashley tapped away on her Link. At one point, she got them refills on the iced tea without comment. Finally, the Trom Girl exhaled and leaned back in her chair.

"This is where you should go, 'Whew' and slam your computer shut," offered Unicorn.

"I do not see where that is necessary, although my shoulders are slightly sore from leaning forward too long," Megan said. She glanced up at her teammate. "How have you been spending your time?"

"Oh, I was arguing about guitars with everyone on the Silver Strings message board. You wanna hear about it? My comebacks were savage!"

"Not right now, thank you. I have compiled a list of Dr Crawford's patients for this year, with their addresses and stats, as well as the prescriptions he ordered for them."

Even though they had made certain no one was within earshot, Ashley still leaned forward and whispered, "MAY-gan! None of that is online! And it's all confidential anyway. How are you even doing this?"

"I was raised by the Trom. Don't worry. Even in a public place such as this, my inquiries are quite secure."

"Okay, I get that but still... do you ever think about how much time you could spend behind bars for what you do?"

The Trom Girl seemed unruffled as she shut down her computer. "You and I have committed many felonies, as have all our team. We accept the risks."

"...Because Tel Shai knights serve justice, not laws," Ashley finished for her. "Right, true enough. Considering how often I pilot a civilian helicopter without a flight plan over densely inhabited areas AND am armed with 30mm chain guns, I'd be getting my meals in the slammer until I'm eighty if we got caught."

The faintest hint of a smile touched the corners of Megan's lips. "Well put. I believe there is sufficient data to predict who the next victim will be, taking many factors into consideration."

Ashley's clear blue eyes caught the light as she leaned closer. "Yeah? Go on."

"We still have hours to wait. My projections indicate the crime will take place at two this morning. As we entered his building, I placed a tracer disc inside the wheel well of his car."

The Unicorn giggled and slapped her palm on the table between them. "I stuck a tracer behind his rear license plate as we went in! We've sure got him covered."

III.

Myron Crawford awoke groggily at One AM after only a few hours sleep. He felt achy and awful, wondering vaguely if he was coming down with a bad cold. Reaching over to his nightstand, he swung the gooseneck lamp over to face him and clicked it on. A piece of cardboard covered the bulb with a tiny hole that let a pinpoint of light out. He stared at it, letting his eyes go out of focus and began the relaxation procedure. Self-hypnosis got easier the longer he practiced it.

When he felt himself slipping away into a pleasant foggy haze, he started whispering instructions to himself. But, somehow, instead of telling himself to relax and sleep comfortably, he was saying, "You are strong. Very strong, you are an Olympic athlete. You can run like a deer. Your body is filled with vitality. Go now into the night."

With a chuckle, he eagerly leaped out of bed and went to his walk-in closet. He threw his pajamas aside and tugged on loose black sweatpants and a black T-shirt, then slid his feet into loafers. He straightened up and caught his reflection in the full length mirror on the inside of the closet door. That image was taller, more muscular, even more handsome with a full head of hair and a Hollywood perfect smile. As he stared, his reflection laughed out loud.

IV.

Parked a block up the street where they could watch Crawford's house, the two KDF members had been sitting on stakeout for five hours. It was no problem for Megan in the passenger seat, still doing research on her laptop but Ashley had long ago gotten fidgety. Patience was not her strongest trait.

"See," she said, "MY theory is that this bird is using the Grendavil to put really strong post-hypnotic suggestions in his patients that help him break in. They leave a window unlatched or an alarm system off the night he's coming."

"That seems very probable," Trom Girl replied in a slightly distracted tone. "Police reports indicate no force was used to break in."

"Annnnd I think it was the one patient, David Whathisname..."

"Weishaupt."

"David Weishaupt. He runs the local marathon every year and places in the top ten entrants so he's in good shape. He's thirty-two. If anyone could do all the climbing up the buildings and jumping off of roofs and so forth, he's the one. My guess is that Crawford is the usual evil mastermind using his power of super-hypnosis to send poor David out to pull these robberies, and of course David doesn't remember any of it."

Megan paused her study of the glowing screen and glanced up at her teammate. "I can not find any reports that the police have questioned him so far. Dr Crawford does have sixteen patients at the present time."

"Now you're breaking into Vermont police files? And they'll never even suspect? Honestly, Megan, if you ever went bad, you could be the worst public enemy ever."

So deadpan that it was difficult to detect sarcasm, the Trom Girl said, "I have no intention of doing so," and turned her attention back to the screen.

"Hey, hey, his headlights went on!" chirped Ashley, clutching at her partner's arm. "now things are gonna pop."

Megan closed her laptop and carefully placed it in the satchel hanging from the back of the driver's seat. "Eight minutes until two. He is keeping to the pattern."

"He never saw your Jeep this afternoon," added Unicorn as she strapped herself in. "I've got my anesthetic dart gun holstered under my windbreaker. I don't see where I would need my Horn, though."

"This case has shown no indication of any gralic phenomena so far," Megan agreed. She clipped her Link to a Velcro strip on the dashboard where its screen showed a green grid of the town streets.

"You know what we never get? A high-speed chase! Roaring down side streets, taking turns on two wheels, knocking garbage cans over...."

The Trom Girl waited until the blip indicating Crawford's car had begun moving before starting her Jeep. "Having to pursue someone that way would show poor planning, in my opinion."

"With these tracers, we follow suspects from out of sight. We can't lose them. Where's the excitement in that?" Ashley demanded.

As she pulled out into the deserted street, Megan Salenger did not know how to answer. Finally, she said, "If we ever have a hot pursuit, you should be the one driving."

"Damn straight. Hey, did you ever figure out how this duck got a hold of Grendavil? It's not something you can just write scrips for."

"No. I have found no connections he might have with the Midnight War. Possibilities are that he treated an Alchemist or a member of Red Sect, but they would be careful to keep that undocumented."

"You sound just a leetle bit annoyed."

Megan shrugged almost imperceptibly, which for her was a melodramatic gesture. "I was raised by the Trom but I am wholly Human, Ashley. I have normal emotions. I am simply restrained in expressing them."

"I bet when you fall in love, you're gonna tumble hard!" Unicorn said with glee. "Little hearts flying around with your head and violin music playing..."

"We are both fully occupied with our duties at the moment," Megan said. "Dr Crawford's car has stopped. I am slowing. We will pass him in twenty-five seconds."

Peering out the passenger window, Ashley said, "Ritzy neighborhood. There's the BMW. And there goes someone sneaking through the yard, the house with the gazebo. That's our boy."

"Understood." Megan went another block before pulling over to the curb and shutting the engine off. Ahead on a hill, the outline of a health care facility could be seen.

"Ready to rock and roll," said Ashley, unbuckling her straps.

"No. Wait. You are not dressed for stealth at night. You should hang back in case support is needed."

The Unicorn looked down at her all-white outfit and platinum hair. "Ummm... maybe he'll think I'm a ghost?"

"I do not foresee any complications," the Trom Girl replied, slipping out the driver's door. Ashley had a brief glimpse of a nimble form running across the sidewalk and vanishing into the gloom. "Drat," she grumbled, "maybe I should bring the black field suit after all."

Trotting silently across the immaculate lawn of a huge back yard, Megan Salenger detached the flat rectangle of her beam projector from its belt clip. She was not wearing the disc of the gravity shield tonight, because she had been warned by her superiors not to use it where Humans could witness. Advanced Trom technology was under protocols of secrecy.

The three story house in the next yard bordered on being a mansion, with an above ground swimming pool, detached garage and a gazebo back by the trees at the edge of the property. Megan kept to shadows, darting across exposed spaces and flattening up against the house. She heard a faint scraping noise around the building's corner.

Peeking quickly and ducking back, she spotted a thin figure in black struggling to get into the house through an opened window. She calculated the man's size and dimensions and was certain to a high degree that this was Dr Myron Crawford. The limp they had observed that afternoon had been caused by his leap from a roof during the previous burglary.

Megan saw no reason for dramatic confrontations. She wanted to keep her activities with the KDF as unknown as possible. Waiting thirty seconds, she crept up to the open window and saw a room dimly illuminated by a floor nightlight that Crawford was pulling open drawers of a standing cabinet. All the evidence needed. Megan pointed the beam projector and thumbed its contact. An invisible neural shock beam lanced out. Crawford slumped unconscious to the luxurious carpet, where he would lie senseless for the next hour.

Returning the projector to her belt, Megan used her Link to patch into the regular phone system. Its signals could not be traced and no one in this State knew her voice. The Trom Girl called the Town Police and breathlessly reported that she saw someone breaking into the house at the address she gave. "Hurry, he just broke the window! I'm afraid!" she said before breaking contact. Immediately, she picked up a fist-sized decorative round rock and broke that window as noisily as she could.

As light blazed on an upstairs room, Megan hurtled across the grass back toward her Jeep at top speed. Seeing her approach, Unicorn started it up and took off as soon as her teammate had closed the door behind her.

Driving away just over the speed limit, Ashley asked how things had gone. Megan explained briefly and strapped herself in. "The police will call an ambulance when they can't wake Crawford up, but he will be fine in an hour. Doctors will be uncertain why he passed out, but the circumstance are overwhelming. I believe he will be charged and convicted."

Stopping at a red light, Ashley abruptly burst out, "I hate this! I didn't do ANYthing on this case. All my ideas were wrong. I might as well have stayed in Manhattan and watched TV while eating ice cream."

Megan sounded surprised. "Ashley? If anything had gone wrong, I was counting on you. I have complete trust in your ability and quick thinking."

The blonde hair swung as she shook her head. "I know, I know, I'm being dramatic." She flashed that heartbreaking smile. "But it's nice to hear it."

10/10/2024

2003, ashley whitaker, megan salenger